Wanderer
by Heavenian
Summary: At the age of fifty-six, Harry is ready to retire from his job as an Auror, his children already had their own children, each decade's "Dark Lord" had been vanquished and all the magical races can walk hand in hand in the streets of Diagon Alley. On his last mission, right before his planned retirement, disaster struck, and cast him adrift... to a strange new world. (Sorta Fem/)
1. Chapter 1

Peace and quiet was all that Head Auror Harry Potter wished for him and his family. His friends and acquaintances can all agree on that.

Harry Potter needed a break.

Of course, fate and the wizarding troubles will never give him the satisfaction. Even after nearly thirty years he had been appointed as the Head Auror, there are still rogue wizards and witches out there in the world raising trouble. Even though there had been a total of five budding "Dark Lords", remnant ex-Death Eaters of Voldemort with an ambition for power and violence attempting to "carry on his master's legacy" , the wizarding world had experienced a period of peace and development that had never been seen before.

Part of this of course should be credited to the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Under his wisdom and foresight, the filth and corruption within the Ministry had largely been cut out from its root. Pure-blood fanatics had mostly been eradicated under the new social policies and freedom while most schools now promote the openness of the mind and ideas.

Harry had thought that Hermione Granger would be an inventor, given her genius-like affinity for magic and learning. On hindsight though, it should have been quite obvious that she became a politician instead. Rising up through the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she had fought for equality for all races, magical creatures that are sentient and the freedom for House Elves. In these years, it is not a rare sight to see a goblin walking side by side next to a wizard to a candy shop without anyone batting an eye.

During the speech she made as the new law was passed, she had said, "Muggles, wizards, goblins, centaurs, house elves, we are all just people with equal rights. It is a joy to see that they have the respect they rightfully should have!" Her speech was met with equal enthusiasm from all races, save the Muggles. Unfortunately, they are still under the Statue of Secrecy. For the best of the public, the existence of magic should still remain undisclosed. After all, not everyone are as peace loving as she is.

As his second in command, Ronald Weasley had become a fearsome duelist and investigator. His insight with tactics and his considerable knowledge with combat magic had saved many lives through out the years. It was worth mentioning that despite the Weasley family tendency to raise their boys to become tall and lanky, Ron had somehow grown to become a giant of a man. Even though he was not as tall as Hagrid (if he was, Harry would think that he might have some form of giant ancestry in his blood. A morbid part of mind noted given the families reputation for... extreme open-mindedness ), his height still dwarfed many other witches and wizards. The once awkward, hairless face now grew a majestic red mane of hair, giving him the appearance of a regal lion.

He had once entered a wizarding competition of Wizard Chess, and was hereby banned from entering it ever again for the judges decide that pitting any other wizard and witches against him would be grievously unfair to them, as Ron had clean-sweeped the entire competition, no challenger ever lasted more then fifteen minutes against him. As he left the stadium amidst the roaring crowd and adoring masses, he snorted to Harry, "No wonder why we beat Voldemort so easily. The wizarding folks are idiots, Hermione _was_ right all along."

Ginny and Harry married just two years after the battle, when they finished the rest of their formal education, followed by Hermione and Ron three years later.

And now, their children have married and grown up, starting families of their own. At the age of fifty six, in the year of 2037, Harry decided that he was ready for retirement.

A long due retirement that he believed he earned rightfully.

It was lucky that in the advance of science and technology, the Muggles never blew themselves up or caused a world war three, or made the earth inhabitable, even if it came close to do so several times. London was bombed several times, several countries in Africa and Europe disappeared and was assimilated, and quite a few cities were submerged under water until the Muggles decided on solving this problem. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had one hell of a time trying to convince the Merpeople to return to the ocean and stop stealing the muggles belongings despite how fascinating muggle gadgets were to them. A certain dangerous class of called "electronics" had unfortunately claimed many curious Merpeople's life.

Harry supposed that he could have had a peaceful life as a celebrity, living in luxury instead of trying to downplay his achievements. Luxury that he had rightfully earned with his life. Taking down a dark lord before his twenties, taking down three before his thirties, five before even being fifty. _That,_ can give him enough fame to not work for the rest of his life and still live in ease.

He had thought about quitting his Auror duty and going for a more relaxing career. After all, his age was already fifty six. His "retirement" would come quite soon. He planned to announce his decision after a discussion with his family. But first, he have a case to finish before leaving his duty to his successors.

However, Harry have a major issue. An issue that he knows for a fact, only he was afflicted with.

He haven't aged a day since the famed Battle of Hogwarts.

That, is a major problem. It seemed that he had somehow achieved immortality, right after he decided to sacrifices his own life for his friends.

He felt cheated, cheated in the sense that he was no longer allowed to age with his friends and family. Cheated of his right to die.

He was sure that this is not because of a spell or potion, not the affects of the Philosopher's Stone. It is something else, something mysterious. Endless life is not something that Harry wished for himself, not after he had accepted the fact that he will, and should die. He couldn't bear the fact that he will never grow old and will come to see everyone he ever knew die, leaving him alone.

He believe that it must have a connection to the mysterious amulet that appeared on him. An amulet in the form of the Deathly Hallows, the charm dangling on a cord of unbreakable silver. A dark opal sat in the middle of the diamond triangle, framed with silver. The middle vertical rod was of elder wood, patterned in the form of the elder wand. At first, Harry had tried to get rid of it in many ways. He does not need this power, these Hallows.

No fire, no curses, method can permanently get rid of the necklace. Throw it away and it will simply reappear on his neck again. Throw fiendfyre at it and you will discover that the amulet was hanging on your neck despite having clearly thrown it on the floor.

After years of trying, he had simply resigned to having to dangle it around his neck. It doesn't seem to be doing anything other than granting him an apparent immortality so far, so it shouldn't hurt to just let it stay there for the time being. After all, it couldn't be removed.

He knowed that he was still ageing, as the Age Line still worked, which means that it was his physical body which refused to tick by the clock. He still starve, which meant he was not frozen in time. He had spend almost all his free time researching on this issue, traveled around the world to look for other cases such as his in the guise of overboard study.

As far as he was concerned, he was the only one that ever achieved this form of "immortality".

To disguise himself, he invented a mixture of Polyjuice Potion and the Ageing Potion, carefully calculated to assume the guise of being older then his body is. He only needed to take the potion once a month and that was the best he can tweak the potion to be. He mused that he used to despise the potion subject from the bottom of his heart, partly because of Snape detestable attitude. He would be rolling in his grave now if he knew that Harry had a newfound appreciation for Potions.

He had never revealed this... curious fact about him, not even to his closest friends and family lest he attract unwanted attention from the media, saying that an old auror, fearing old age had sought immortality through Dark Arts. That cannot be allowed to happen.

This was a quite a large stain on his otherwise, almost perfect life.

Of course, he was not so idiotic as to try to suicide in order to prove his supposed immortally. It would be incredibly tragic if he actually died, not to mention ridiculously idiotic.

Harry snapped out of his reverie as he stood in front of the mirror. He wore a well tailored suit around his well muscled frame with a dark red robe above. Harry was not one for fashion, but he could still agree that the aurora combat robe was quite dashing. Even though he knew that the features on his face to not match what he truly is.

He checked his watch and almost dropped the cup of tea he was preparing to take a sip from. Its almost eleven thirty and yet he was still in the house, sipping tea like a proper British gentleman.

The Head Auror can _not_ afford to be late!

He settled his cup of tea on the table, rose with haste as stomped out the door. At this time, he was the only one in the Potter Manor as his wife was staying over at Herimone's residence while his own children are away with their own family over the Summer Holiday. Old Grumpy, as his grand kids would call him, at which his own children, James, Albus and Lily betrayed him by agreeing on.

He rushed out the door, checking himself briefly to see if he had brought everything needed.

Wand, checked. Glasses, checked (not that he need needed them any more since he had them fixed with magic, its just because these glasses he owned are Enchanted in the way Moody's were ).

There goes his Auror kit.

He kicked the door shut behind him and apparated with a _crack!_ He felt a pull behind his navel and was whisked away from the doorstep of Potter Manor.

* * *

He landed gracefully in the middle of a darkened room. Not that it was necessary to be dark, it was just that Ron delights in being dramatic to scare the other Aurors.

The room appeared to be part of an underground bunker, made of bricks and tiles. Dim Lumo-Lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting their yellowish glow around the room. A table stood in the centre of the room, laden with paper, maps and files of every kind. The room was filled with several other Aurors, saying two witches and fourwizards. They fell silent in respect as Harry made his appearance.

"Glad to see you are still on time, mate," Ron said, his massive frame blocking out the light. He had aged well, even being in "middle-age", he was still clearly more fit then anyone else in the room. He had trimmed his red beard slightly, his hair finally oiled back in a semblance of being tidy after being pestered by Hermione countless times. He too wore his red Auror robes, enchanted with prepared shield charms and several counter-curses.

Harry grimaced as he was forced look up his best friend's nostril, "Oh shut it, I was busy."

Ron chuckled as he said, "Great answer, very eloquent. Come on, we are about to get started."

Harry allowed himself to be led away to the table and meet his team. Ron introduce each character one by one. There were the two witches, Maggie and Samantha, Aurors that Harry had once worked with. The wizards were separately called Sean, Rye and Jesti, two Aurors and a magic consultant.

After introductions, Ron announced, "In case anyone here have any doubts, let us run through what we are about to do here again. We are to investigate a magic anomaly detected in this manor—" At which he unfurled a map and laid it on the table above the stacks, where with a tap of wand projected an image of an old, almost ruin-like manor surrounded by a dense forest, " — which was confirmed to be guarded by several dark wizards after our most recent surveillance. Most importantly, we also found signs of the Preacher hiding here."

Rye asked, "Preacher? Is he that rouge wizard that Team D from the Investigation Department was tracking?"

Harry confirmed by saying, "Yes, he is the one that had been giving speeches about parallel universes and and how the world would end, blah blah blah. That man."

"This magic anomaly might be rift in space time, similar to the Veil in the Unspeakable Archives," Ron supplied, "that is why we have out friend here —" at which Jesti raised his hand "— our Magic Consultant from the Unspeakables here. As you all know, having a Rift present on Earth without being accounted for is extremely dangerous, therefore we are sent to investigate, and if necessary, destroy it. I hope you all understand how serious this matter is.

"Now back to the point," Ron said, shifting his focus back on the map, "We will be breaking into this Manor at midnight, about half an hour later. Samantha will create a temporal hole in the ward, at which the rest of us will slip in, hopefully undetected. She will stay outside as out contact and backup with the plan went backwards. We will enter via the back, through the cellar. If you meet anyone in there, feel free to use stunners on them, take them out quietly. Sean and Maggie will clear the top floors, while everyone else will follow Harry to underground. If the Preacher was discovered, the two teams will exchange instead, clear? Harry here will deal with him. None of you will attempt to capture him"

Harry completed the rest of the preview for him, "Protect Jesti at all cost. Sean and Rye will be the sniffers this time, look out for traps and alert us when you do. Your partners should be good enough to disarm the curses, or traps. Beware of magic as much as muggle weaponry. Do not underestimate the detections of muggle technology. Always stay under a notice-me-not charm, a Disillusionment Charm and always cast a Stasis charm before entering any room. These are must in countering bullets and rays."

Ron muttered, "Constant Vigilance indeed."

Harry continued on, "We've practiced this before. You should all know what to do. If you come across anything that you do not know how to deal with, leave and alert the rest of us immediately. Remember, stun when you can, but be prepared to use lethal forces when necessary. This is not a school ground brawl."

The team nodded quietly, bobbing their heads up and down like children in a classroom. Harry internally sighed to himself at the way the younger aurors look at him in near reverence. It seemed like his reputation as the Sentinel preceded him again. He had no idea who came up with that name and thought that it would be a good idea. Harry wasn't surprised by it though. The wizarding folks have a talent for making up strange names and the worst acronyms that ever existed.

Harry nodded at Ron, who clapped his hands, "Good, we are good to go then."

Ron waved his wand at the table once. The maps flew off the table and rolled up into neat stacks of scrolls, the quills and ink tidied themselves and settled into the corner of the room along with the table. After this was done, Ron grabbed a card from within his coat and pulled it out. He said out loud, "Alright everyone, grab hold of the card."

When he confirmed that everyone was indeed holding onto the edge of the paper, he said out loud in a dramatic manner, " _Portus!"_

* * *

Harry could honestly say that he landed with far more grace then he did in his youth, padding softly onto the grass while almost everyone else stumbled.

Even though they landed heavily, their enchanted boots made no sound as it made contact with the leaves and grass. He checked that everyone in the team was well and ready, before signalling that they can leave with a hand sign.

At once, they all casted the pre-required secrecy charms on themselves. Disillusionment Charms, Silencing Charms, Signature Cloak are some of the charms they used. Their Auror cloaks allowed the charms to take hold for far longer then it normally does, allowing the Aurors to function in the field without worrying about replenishing their defences.

Once by one, they left on foot, jogging silently through the night. The clouds were thick in clumps, but yet there are vast spaces in between where the moonlight shone down, casting a silvery glow up the dark green leaves and grass. A small cool breeze blew through the forest, the leaves rustling as if there are fairies laughing in the wind. Not that it was not possible. Those tiny little buggers are literally everywhere.

Before he knew it, in less then ten minutes they had arrived onto the edge of the forest, where the manor was located in the middle of clearing. This manor was enchanted to be Unplottable, therefore never officially existed before its recent discovery. Through his glasses, Harry can see the magical bubble, the ward surrounding the property like a giant dome.

In the middle of the clearing was the manor. It was a three storied building made of stone and wood, built in the style of old victorian manors. There were three spiky towers, two collapsed with one that looked like it was barely standing, the vines and moss threatening to drag it down. Its windows were old and shattered, about only half of them intact. Pieces of the wall were missing, pieces of rubble littering here and there like children's toys.

As with his glasses, he can see the opaque forms of his colleagues even though they are Disillusioned. Not that he needed his glasses for that anyway. All Aurors have their badges linked to others with magic so that they can recognise each other. To prevent breach of security, as soon as the badge leaves the Auror, it will instantly burn up into flakes of dust and fly away with the wind. This way, no one can take advantage of the system.

Samantha waved her wand in a complicated pattern at the Ward Stone, which Harry can see due to its magical signature and half buried underground, disguised as a large rock. An invisible hole appeared in the invisible ward, rippling as the surface of the lake, held apart by magic. Samantha whispered, "Go!"

The team rushed through the opening, sprinting silently through the wavering grass like wolves on the hunt. As they are inside the ward now, they can clearly see for themselves that this manor was not as abandoned as it first seemed.

There were candle lights shining from within the building. With his glasses, Harry can clearly see that there are several nervous wizards and witches standing guard, their wands at the ready with _Lumos._ It shows just how inexperienced these witches and wizards are. Bright light at close range does not help night vision at all, instead it prevents the defender from seeing far into the dark, further more it compromise their location to anyone that might be interested.

 _Which,_ Harry though to himself, _I cannot_ _complain about. It means I've done a great job so that there are no veteran offenders anymore, no experienced dark wizards wandering about on the streets._

 _Hopefully._

By now, the Aurors were huddled up by the Manor's wall, the flower bushes hiding their forms, wands at the ready.

Beyond the wall, Harry could here the sentry wizards chattering about, _"Did you hear about the... bloody nut job he is..."_

The team shuffled all the way to the back of the house, preferably where the cellar would be. Harry tapped on the wall, whispered, _"Ostiuma Patetus!"_

With an almost inaudible groan, the red clay bricks unfurled themselves, not unlike a budding flower. The bricks overlapped each other, wriggling their way out like so many rodents. Amidst the moving bricks, a wooden plank suddenly popped out, filling in the space where the wall had vacated. In seconds, a complete wooden door now stood where the bricks once were, as if it had belonged there all the time.

Harry grasped the brass handle and pushed.

The door opened quietly into a dark room, the silver ray of moonlight shining on the tiles. Tentatively, Harry walked in, checking for residues of magic with his glasses.

The room was dark and musty, shelves lined the walls where bottles would be. Barrels upon barrels stood in the corner, each labeled in illegible writing. Harry supposed that this manor was once owned by a muggle in ages past before the occupational wizard moved in, since it was clear that the wine cellar was almost never used or cared for. The wood had long been rotted down, the smell of fermented wine, now vinegar filled the air, almost causing Harry to choke on its fumes.

Followed by his team, Harry casted a small area of _Muffliato,_ where the Aurors moved in. Ron closed the door behind him and casted _lumos,_ so that a small sphere of light can allow them to see each other.

Harry made a circling pattern at other door, the one that lead in doors into the building, whispering, _"Speculus!"_

The door rippled as its surface in the middle turned mirror like, reflecting the light from the Lumos. The Aurors watched as Harry reached into a pocket and withdrew a small, eyeball like _thing._ He laid the ball onto the ground and tapped it twice with his wand.

Suddenly, tiny, hair-fine legs popped out from the bottom. The creature stood up and started prancing around, controlled by its activator's will. At the same time, the mirror like thing on the door changed its reflection, showing the mirror itself, and the mirror itself, and the mirror itself in the mirror in a never ending pattern.

The younger Aurors suddenly realised that they are now looking out from the small eyeball like creature's perspective, meaning that the creature is now connected to the _Speculus_ charm.

Harry said the Aurors while gesturing to the small creature, "This, is an Oculate. You will have access to these things once you reach Auror level rank four. I believe I do not have to explain why. These buggers can be abused too easily."

The Oculate was an invention that popped up in the last ten years. Someone had taken the old Expendable Ears of Weasley Wizard's Wheeze, tinkered with the charms in it, plucked an eyeball from a toad and somehow created this spindly abomination. For a few weeks that it was revealed (caught, to be precise), it caused quite a large scandal as many rather revealing recordings of young witches started playing on the streets in Diagon Alley.

It took quite a while to find the mastermind behind this mess (of which, predictably was a small group of brilliant and fairly frustrated teens). After a public apologies, the Oculate was confiscated by the Aurors. What did surprised Harry though, was the Ministries' decision to employ these little gadgets as part of the Auror equipment.

He turned his attention back to the Oculate, and command it to crawl under the door and out the other side.

The mirror showed what the Oculate sees to the Aurors. Just beyond this door was a dark living room. Several candles were lit and two muggle thugs were sitting facing each other, both eating while the other arm cradle an automatic rifle. The red marks around their Iris and the dazed way they looked showed clear signs of the Imperious curse and that it was repeatedly casted.. Harry was secretly glad that they had caught the evidence with out having to resort to violence. Since now they have proof that an Unforgivable was casted, the Auror team had full permission to take out the targets.

Harry whispered to his man, "I will take care of those two when I phase through the door."

The Oculate tip-tapped across the floor stealthy, the view from the mirror bobbed up and down it climbed up a set of wooden stairs. The visible view would be terrible to most human eyes as the lighting was next to nonexistence, but to the Occulate's enhanced vision (after all, its entire purpose was for spying and looking) it might as well be as bright as day. Through its lenses, magical wards and traps shone in a myriad of colours. Violent magic glinted in red, charms in blue, while wards hazed in green.

The house itself was dark, barely cared for. It was apparent that its current occupant care not for its maintenance or state. Mould devoured the wooden floors, moss grew on the brick walls where the wallpapers were corroded by water, which seeped down from the ceiling. On the second floor was a rather long corridor, a door on either side and one on the end, where a witch stood guard with a drooping expression. Steam drifted from her ears, a tail-tale sign of the use of the Pepper-up Potion. Her face was veiled by a hat, but the metallic glint of a pair of Spectacles were unmistakable.

A pair of Spectacles was first released into the public by a certain Luna Lovegood almost thirty years ago, when they were all just in their twenties. Noting that the spelling of the name was exactly the same as normal pair of glasses, Luna had refused to change its name based on the excuse of having no other better names to describe it.

This pair of almost ordinary looking glasses grant witches and wizards the ability to see magical auras, which all but a lucky few can. In fact, when Luna first recognised that what she can see was indeed the illusive "aura", Ron had indelicately said, "bollocks."

Through these glasses, one can see little wisps of coloured smoke off magical items, the glow from someone's soul. These glasses instantly went famous when they were shown to have the ability to pass by most invisibility cloaks, as Luna had demonstrated by nailing a cloaked Harry with a stunner in a test. Of course, the cloak that Harry had been using is just another one supplied by the Aurors department. His own personal Cloak of Death had long disappeared into the Amulet he now wore every day.

Of course, once again this item can be misused easily, so that all applicants was sign a magical form and legal apply for these glasses. Most Aurors on guard duty have access to a pair so that none may sneak up on them, and are trained to recognise the auras to know the passerby's intention. In fact, Harry's own glasses was a pair of Spectacles, albeit a lot more refined to what most can access to, since this particular pair was personally designed by Luna herself with the aid of Hermione. It had many other helpful functions such as night vision, telescopic vision and even the ability to shrink into a pair of contact lenses. Harry would prefer not to do so though, for it hurts very much when a swiss-army-knife on your face implode inward onto your eyeballs.

So far, the ability to create the Spectacles remain confided with Luna. Harry was sure that the Department of Mysteries were having a field day trying to figure out what makes this thing tick. After a total of thirty years, the pioneers and researchers of the wizarding world remained clueless and baffled. Luna herself had said to Harry when she brought this gift to him, "Magic is a marvel, its not for war." After making a total of thirty pairs of lesser Spectacles, Luna had then frankly refused to construct any more of these glasses.

The counter to the Spectacles?

Fake auras. Difficult, but not impossible.

The most definite proof of it so was the invention of the Oculate, which projects the aura of a harmless critter. The aura project available to the Oculate was what made it so difficult to locate in the few weeks of the Oculate Scandal, as the Aurors have often overlooked these auras in search for something more definite, more conspicuous. After the design was confiscated, the Auror Department saw fit to equip three Auror-owned Oculate with its own Spectacle lens, the same amount that Luna had provided. True enough, in a few months, the deployment of the Oculate had netted them a total score of a twenty two dark magical dealings.

True enough, as the Oculate scampered across the floor, the witch at the end of the hall didn't even blinked, the Oculate blending in with the countless spiders and rats that undoubtedly infest this building.

The Oculate crawled behind a wall through a small hole made by rats, the lens not affected by the darkness at all. A small family of rats huddled around in the small confinement, looking curiously at the intruder. A small spark discharge sent them scurrying off with singed furs, where they continued to stare albeit at a safer distance and much warier.

Voices echoed up from beyond as the Oculate followed the corridor. By now they should have passed by where the witch was standing guard. Unfortunately, the listening potential of the Oculate was rather limited. The maximum hearing range was only about seven meters, and despite the work of the Unspeakables, they can not manage to inscribe more runes on the tiny eyeball-like creature to enhance its listening skill, especially with its lack of ears.

Despite that, the male voice that reverberated through the thin wall was clear. _"Master Ludwig! The gate is still unstable. We cannot —"_

A scratchy voiced replied angrily, _"We must! The Aurors are closing in — and time is short. If we do not do it today, we will be doomed."_

 _"But Master... The calculations! They are incomplete — We can't guarantee —"_

The scratchy voice snapped, _"No, it can not wait any longer. If we do not attempt the journey now, there would never be another chance. Either the_ _collision or the Aurors would get us first. We will activate the gate tonight."_

There was a moment of silence. After a while, the other voice replied, resigned, _"Yes, master. It will be done."_

Harry had heard enough. He turned to his team, who gazed back at him with trepidation. Ron shrugged his shoulders. Harry cleared his throat and said, "We will start the mission now," Harry looked at each and every single one of his team, "You lot remember what your role is?"

Another wave of nods responded.

Harry smiled grimly. He nodded back at his team. Slowly, he creaked opened the door, a pre-casted silencing charm making the otherwise creaking door silent. Through the gap, he saw that both Muggles were still oblivious to the approaching danger. Harry took a deep breath and carefully aimed his wand.

 _"Stupify!"_

* * *

The Wizarding World had a Policy where Muggles that had been forcefully enthralled into servitude should be Obliviated, purified of magic and released back into the Muggle society. This is fortunate for those two that Harry had stunned, for they will wake up back to their families, if they had any.

The witch that one stood guard above had been less fortunate, though. Her brains now stained the door she valiantly protected, the headless stump of her neck gushing out boiling blood, the body slumping against the wall with an air of finality. Harry decided that this woman could not have been more then twenty five in age. He had never seen her before, or that she was an enemy who attempted to cast _Bombarda_ on him, but somehow inexplicably he felt sorry for this unknown witch.

The amulet grew warm and faded as another life had been lost. Harry watched as the aura from the woman faded away, her life-force seeping away into the great nothingness. Despite all these years he had fought, taking a life was still uneasy to him. He supposed that it was a good thing that he kept his empathy for others. He couldn't imagine what would happen to the world if the man with the Hallows were to be a monster.

Focusing once again, he pushed opened the un-warded wooden door. He strode in, wand out and leading.

"I had been expecting Aurors to come visit. Never expected to be you, Harry Potter, to personally visit this poor old man.", a scratchy voice said, "what a surprise."

A balding man in a sharp purple suit sat behind a large mahogany office table, his arms crossed. Unknown schematics litter the table, carving tools left on the floor, papers nailed to the walls with rows upon rows of words written. Another small brown-haired wizard huddled fearfully behind a smaller table, whimpering in fear.

"How unfortunate for you. I had planned to retire soon too, right after taking care of you." Harry replied, his wand pointing at the man , "So, any last words, any thing to say about your plans? You can take this as a reprieve from one poor old man to another, or not, I don't care."

"If you kill me, all of us will die," The Prophet said nonchalantly, "If you let me continue, most of us will die, but some of us might, with a dash of luck, live."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "How cliché."

The prophet took a deep breath, "seeing that you haven't stunned me yet, I assume that you are willing to listen?"

"Maybe"

"I am not going to babble with word here. This simplest version of what I had researched on, is very simple. The world is about to end, and I have the key of human survival."

Harry stayed silent, simply continued to stare at the man.

The Prophet said, his voice starting to crack in agitation, "In less than a week's time, there will be a solar flare of unimaginable power. The Muggles can't do jack shit about this one — This is the day where the sun will scorch the earth, wiping all of us out. Not even us, wizards, can hope to survive this one. The only way to survive, is that we must leave this world. However, only a hand full of wizards, magical creatures of... sufficient power can survive, the rest must be sacrificed—"

Harry snapped, "Did you sincerely expected me to believe anything that you said?"

The Prophet stayed silent for a moment.

After a while, he replied, "No... But it doesn't MATTER! I AM NOT DYING HERE WITH YOU!" He whipped out a wand from his trousers, " _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry was forced to duck under the green curse that just whizzed over his head. He boarded back, " _Stupefy_!"

The Prophet deflected the charm onto the desk, sending the stacks of paper flying. He retaliated, " _Reducto!"_

Harry blocked the incoming hex, his shield absorbing the harmful magic. He blasted the table with an Expulso, sending the furniture flying into the Prophet. Unable to jump out of the way, the Prophet was knocked into the window behind him, the table breaking several of his ribs as he hit the windowsill. With a swift _"Expelliarmus!"_ , the wand was ripped from his fingers into the Harry's waiting hand.

As the papers that was sent flying into the air settled, silence filled the room again with all but the sound of breathing. Within seconds, the duel had concluded, and such is a wizard's duel. Harry lowered his wand, "You've lost now. You will be brought back to the Ministry for further investigation..."

" _I've_ lost?" The Prophet croaked, coughing up blood with a smile. He struggled under the weight of the table, his breathing laboured, " _I_ didn't. You did..."

A mysterious chilled settled in Harry's chest. He frowned, feeling uneasy...

Suddenly, he whisked around, wand raised.

The other wizard, the one that Harry had dismissed earlier, held a dark dagger within his hands, numbers runes inscribed all over it. Before Harry could react, he plunged the blade straight into his own chest, impaling himself.

As as soon the blood started spilling, a magical shockwave almost knocked Harry off his feet. Through his glasses, he could see a an explosion of darkness. Purple lines spiral out of the dagger, the blood that gushed out of the wound twisted into glyphs that shine, circling around the man. The air grew heavy, the ground started shaking, wind started whirling towards the dagger. The man, drawn by some unseen magic or the wind was lifted into the air, floating and spinning.

Harry covered his eyes, he screamed at the man, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

The man didn't reply. Instead, he looked back blankly at Harry, as if completely oblivious to the chaos flying about him or the handle the protruded from his chest. Harry then noticed the mans eyes. Bloodshot. Deformed iris.

The man had been imperialised.

The Prophet, still lying under the table, started laughing, "What have _we_ done? We saved the wizard kind! With all the fame and power that you have, yet you came too late."

Harry banished the table. He grabbed the Prophet by the collars of his suit, "Stop this—"

"Stop?" The Prophet giggled in dementia, "Oh no, what started now cannot be stopped! You are too late to do ANYTHING!"

Harry drew his fist back, and in a flash delivered a devastating punch the Prophet's stomach. The man wretched up blood, the crimson pouring out and yet he still laughs, "Oh, kill me then! The world will remember me as a saviour!"

Harry drew his wand, his anger and his desperation fuelling his magic, " _Crucio_!"

The Prophet convulsed, laughing and screaming, clawing at the ground and the eyes bulging out. Harry screamed at him, "TELL ME! WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?" He brought his wand down, once, twice and thrice he did.

He would not stop laughing. It was now a gale within the room. Papers started flying like a wooden cyclone. The mouldy old floor start ripping up, the windows shattered in the wind. Harry shielded himself with a _Protego,_ the glass and nails bouncing off an invisible surface. The Prophet was not lucky. A broken pipe brought into the air whipped onto the man's head, the metal breaking his skull soundly smack. Like a puppet with its string's cut, the man's head rolled back and collapsed.

Harry gritted his teeth. His eyes searched around the room for anything — anything at all that can help —

The dagger!

Harry strode towards the hovering man, the wind and darkness blasting out like a wind tunnel. It ripped at his coat, the fabric billowing. He struggled through the force but something was pushing him back, the ground shaking off his attempts to advance.

Frustrated, he raised his wand and roared, " _Accio!"_

The blade quivered in the body, its rune's glowing and pulsed but it would not dislodge. Harry poured more and more of his magical reserves into the spell. His wand started warming up, glowing and burning —

With a sickening rip, the blade tore out of the wizard's chest. The retrieving spell had finally over powered protective charms on the dagger. The wizard, now unsuspended by the power of the sacrifice, slumped onto the floor in a heap.

With agility that surprised even himself, he caught the blade mid flight. The blade was cold and warm at the same time, dark light billowing out like smoke and mists. The blade took on a red hue — Harry had somehow broken the ritual — but yet the storm continues.

A sudden urge took Harry, and in that instant he knew what he had to do. _The ritual must not be stopped! The blade needs more —_

 _No._

Harry fought the urge. These thought are not his.

 _No._

Hs teeth gritted, his knuckles crunched.

Before he knew, he felt a searing pain in his own chest. With a gasp, he found himself with hands on the pommel, the blade buried in between his crimson robes. It was like fire, burning through his veins. He felt his own body tearing itself apart as the blade sunk deeper and deeper into his body, the magic churning his flesh in arcs and ripples. His hands refuses his commands, clawing feebly at the grip.

His legs failed him and he fell to his knees. He tasted something metallic in his throat, his heart rampantly pumping. His vision started to blur and his thoughts started to unravel. A coldness gripped his limbs, a weakness unlike any other filled him.

For the second time in his life, he knew that he is dying.

He coughed out, wrecking pain shook his body. A massive blood splatter appeared on the floor, a fine red mist spraying.

He collapsed onto the floor in the fatal position. He could see that the magic swirling around him. The dark tendrils interlacing with the ribbons of silver, weaving into a dance of language of some kind.

His strength left him.

Weak.

Helpless.

Then suddenly, he felt a force, something that detonated. He felt the ground disappear. He felt the world disappear.

A whiteness burned away everything. The floor burned away and the pipings showed. The picture frames ripping apart, the paper, the wood, the frames and now the wall. The fallen wizards on his side had their flesh stripped away, tearing apart, exposing the skulls and organs. Eventually, in what felt like seconds, they were devoured too.

He falling. Falling into a void.

He could hear distant screaming...

 _Harry had never been the best at chess. It was only under Ron's persevering_ _tutorship despite his talentlessness that he hadn't gave up on it yet. Ron had smiled one day, after another glorious trampling of Harry's army, "You know, you are already better than most people." He picked up Harry's decapitated King, "However, sometimes you just need to let others to sacrifice. You can't always be the one that take the hit..."_

 _"...knowledge is always important," Hermione argued, "knowledge is like a map, and you need it to navigate through life — especially if you are magical and nothing makes sense — Harry, get a grip. Find what is important in your life and what is not._ "

 _Ginny snorted as she threw the quaffle cushion back at him, "You might want to stop with your hero complex. The world will not burn if you are not there. However, —" she reached over and kissed Harry on the cheek despite his protest, "People do like being damsels in distresses. Its a strange thing..."_

 _Luna had always been butterfly-like. Whispery and whimsical, unruffled by anything in the world. However, sometimes she would turn extraordinarily serious and says ominous things, "One day, you might find yourself cut off from us — don't be scared. It might just be the world's way to tell you to move on..."_

 _Harry laughs, his small chubby hands gripping onto the toy broomstick as it raced around the house. Lily scolded, "James! What did I tell you? That 'toy' is dangerous!" The man laughed back, "Well, isn't everything? At least he is happy while doing it. Hey, maybe even later he would be a Hogwarts Seeker..."_

 _Snape's eyes burned into his, anger pouring out. He spat, "What kind of effort is this? If you slack off in your practice you would never be able to keep the Dark Lord out of your mind!" Harry was glaring back, unwilling to give an inch. However, for some reason, for a moment Harry seemed to have seen an unfathomable sadness in his eyes, if ever only for a second._

 _"Do you not grow tired?" Draco laughs, "years and years we spent trying to hex each other into the ground?" He raised a whisky glass into the air, "Heres to the most miraculous friend ship the world will ever see." Harry toasted back, and the glasses clinked._

 _"There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those two weak to seek it." Tom hissed, paused, and continued in a more normal tone, "And it seems that power finds you, Potter. Not that it matters."_

 _"Trust me, Harry, I know the difference between you and James, do not presume me to be so mad yet," Sirius said solemnly, and, "I spent fourteen years with despair and I would never break my promise to you and your friends. Until the moment of my last breath, I will always strive to help you. Do not forget this, Harry,"_

 _Neville cradled the blade in his arms, wiping the blood from his brows, "Ever wonder why a witch or wizard would ever want to use something so clunky in the first place?" He held the sword high up in the air, the daylight reflecting off the rubies and goblin steel, "I would presume that they are showing it off or compensating for something, but now, it seemed more and more like a symbol — that we are just as mortal as any other..."_

 _Peter gasped and coughed as he slowly choked himself to death, the silver arm that was once a reward being the instrument of his death. Harry could do nothing to help him as the man wither away. He supposed that he should be angry, angry at the man that betrayed his parents, the man that in cowardice resurrected Tom Riddle. He could feel nothing but pity. Pity and a feeling of resignation._

And abruptly, after an eternity, he woke up.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Hi people,**

 **So, here goes the first chapter! What do you people think? Since this story is cross-fanfic, I am sure that you understand the direction this goes. However, I guarantee that this would not start like other traditional "elfling" Harry.**

 **Any way, second chapter might be weeks later. So stay tuned and add it to your alert list!**

 **See ya!**

 **Heaviness out.**


	2. Hectic Awakening

He woke up.

He coughed, unendingly. Wreaking pain burrowed through his chest, like there was something that was breaking out. He felt like as if a great force had propelled him into something, a shock that shook his entire being, his mind seemingly shifting in an out.

Disorientated, he found himself to be lying onto the ground, his arms curled around him, twitching.

 _Breath in._

 _Breath out._

 _Breath in._

 _Breath out._

He could hear voices, murmuring agitatedly.

 _Breath in._

He struggled to open his eyes.

 _Breath out._

There was the sound of argument, but he could not make out the words.

 _Breath in._

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and then his throat. After a few seconds, it went away.

Breath out. There was a collective sigh of relief. Someone barked something out, loudly.

A pair of hands lifted him up, which once again threw him into vertigo. He let out a small groan. Someone murmured into his ear, which for some reason felt strangely soothing.

The pain began to fade, his breathing became easier. He felt the warmth of sunlight passing over his face, and then back into the shadows he went. He was laid down onto something soft, something that felt strangely familiar. The voice whispered again, he tried to understand but failed to do so.

He felt like he knew this language, it was familiar and yet again, not. He heard a door shut, and then a isolating silence.

And in the darkness and his rampant thoughts, exhaustion took him and his mind drifted away once more.

Or did he? It felt like no time passed at all. From one moment he was lying down he was once again wake. He sprung up, gasping. The pain is gone. He can breath. He is alive, or was he dead at all? Where was he? Where was he before he woke up?

He can feel his heart beating again. He can feel his lungs extending and contracting, the touch of his skins against the skin covers of the bed, the sweat that stains his clothes.

His eyes opened this time without effort. He was in a small room, a floor of dirt and a wall of clay. He could smell the scent of dew-grass in the morning, the stench of manure and smell of burning of air that came from poor ventilation. He could hear the sound people talking, but it was too distant to make out the words.

He slowly swivelled off the bed, his feet touching the ground. It was cold and moist. He tested his strength and found it firm. Little by little, with the aid of his arms, he stood up. He groaned as the blood rushed from his head to his feet, nearly losing balance.

Taking deep breaths again, he stabilised himself. Walking slowly, hand against the wall, he made for the wooden door at the end of the room. He took the handle, and shook it.

It was locked. Is he a prisoner? Who brought him here? Where is he?... He could see a flight of stairs beyond the bars at the top of the door but he could not see whether there were anyone. Weakly, he called out, "Hello?"

And he stopped. His voice... is different. It was the same, and yet again unfamiliar. The pitch was too high, the tones were too feminine —

He looked down, he found himself dressed in a simple leather jerkin over a sleeveless tunic and pants with a dress atop.

 _Oh no._

Franticly, he ran his hands around his body, searching for all sense of familiarity —

 _Oh no._

He found two small bumps on his chest that could not have been there. He felt shorter, smaller, weaker.

And when his hands went to his groin, it confirmed his suspicion.

 _Oh no._

 _This is not my body,_ Harry thought to himself in shock, Impossible.

He sunk against the wall in contemplation. _No_.

He doesn't have his magic items. He wands, cloak, belongings are gone.

And so was the Hallows Amulet.

 _Oh no._

Weakly, whispering prayers to gods that he did no recognise then, he lifted his — her arm, and whispered, _"Lumos"_

He nearly cried in relief as his finger lit up in an incandescent glow, bringing light into the dreary prison of his.

Magic. Magic is here. Magic is real.

He is not powerless now. Magic, his magic, he still got it.

He whispered again, _"Nox"_

And the light faded again.

He is Harry Potter, son of James Potter and Lily Evans. He is magical, and he was from earth. He was definitely not female.

Filled with a sudden sense of purpose, he felt himself strangely energised. He need to leave here, where ever this is and start searching for answers.

Smiling grimly, he pointed his finger at the lock on the door, "Alohomora."

Without a sound, the door slid open. Tentatively yet strangely excited, he walked through the door and up the stairs.

The stark daylight washed his face. He breathed in the fresh air, the smell of leaves and plants. From where his eyes can see, he see hill and trees, bobbling up and down like a green sea frozen in time. Before him, right below his hilly prison was a small village, thatched roofs and walls. Bits and pieces of farmlands litter here and there like scattered cards.

Harry remember seeing this view before, remember the smell of nature, rot and growth, remember the shades the tree casts on the ground, the same creeks and the same buildings. Where had he seen this before?

His mind provided names, Minhiriath, South Downs, Rotherham.

He did not understand where these memories came from, but for some inexplicable reason he knew beyond the doubt that the village surrounding him is indeed the village of Rotherham in South Down, Minhiriath.

A cry of fear took his attention. He swivelled his head and immediately spied a man, armed with a rake, pointing at him. The man yelled, "It broke out! The Umaiar broke out!"

Umaiar?

With a shock, he realised that the man was not speaking English at all, nor was it any language that he had heard of — but he still understood it perfectly.

Warily, he saw that several others had answered the cry, eyes started spotting his form on top of the hill. And without warning, they started running toward him, rakes and pitchforks raised.

Turning away, he began running down the hill at the opposite direction.

His now shorter legs and petite frame served poorly for running. As he reached the bottom of the hill, he found himself in a thicket of grass and crops. There are men and women — farmers all around him, now staring at him in shock —

A voice screamed out, "Don't let her escape!"

Harry continued running, cursing under his breath. He found himself on a road of mud, trees arching above in a small little grove. Choosing briefly, he decided to continue running along the road. Out of nowhere, a pitch fork landed somewhere to the left of him, sticking into the mud with a splat.

The body couldn't keep up with his demand any longer. His lungs began burning from the sprint and he had to slow down, his limbs betraying his will.

There was a snarl, "You cannot run forever, you foul creature!"

Harry looked back, warily.

The farmers, the villager are slowly trickling into the road from the fields, armed with pitchforks and shovels, rakes and make-shift spears. They advanced, weapons at hand ready to throw or stab. There were children, younger man and women standing in the back, watching in horror and fascination. They were all yelling, their voices mixed into a symphony of rage and fear, snarling and leering. Familiar faces swarmed his mind. These people that he had never met but yet he remembers.

All are so familiar. Who are they?

An old man, face gnarly and red with anger, hoisted up his pitchfork and threw it.

Harry snarled and batted it aside with a silent Protego. The pitchfork slammed into a green shield that shimmered into existence, sparks flying as the tool went flying to the side, smoking at the tips.

The mass went silent, cautious.

They continued to glare with their weapons at ready, but no one dared to make another step.

Harry's fingers twitched as he stared back, breathing deeply.

An impasse then.

They stood there for seemingly an eternity. The birds went silent, the crickets stopped chirping, the wind stopped blowing. The tension was so thick that Harry can almost imagine a storm building, the pressure dropping.

Harry can feel sweat dripping down his scalp as he regarded the mass. Obviously, they wanted him dead. But why? Why bother to capture her if they wanted him dead?

Eventually, an old man stood forth. He was dressed in robes of brown, charms and beads around his neck and a beard worthy of Hargrid. This visage brought even more uneasiness to Harry. He had known this man. This person. Who is he? Who is he? Who is he? The old man cleared this throat, slamming his staff and yelled out firmly across the distance between Harry and them, "Release her, creature!"

Release? Harry thought, unmoving, Release what?

Then, suddenly, a revelation came to him.

He is in a different body — which means that he had somehow, to all purposes and intents — possessed someone. What happened back then? He remembered something about on the last mission...? He remembered pain a whole lot of it. How did that lead to here? What was going on?

Shit.

The old man yelled again, "Be banished, vile demon!"

Harry tried speaking, "I cannot."

It came out as the same language that these people are speaking, even though Harry was sure that he had never spoken it before.

A woman, dressed in a simple dress and white tunic, came forth and cried out, "Give me my daughter back! Leave!" There were tears streaming down her cheeks, her fists clenched.

Daughter?

"I cannot! I do not know how!" Harry yelled back. Something cried out within him. A feeling of anguish and pure unmitigated sense of betrayal flooded his mind. This woman was not his mother. Not _her!_

There was silence once again.

The two parties regarded each other once more.

The woman whispered out, "What are you? What have you done to my daughter?"

Harry was silent for a while. Then he spoke again, "I do not know. My name was... The name I was born with was Harry Potter — I do not know your daughter nor do I know what happened to her..."

The woman spat, "You wore her body! You came in a flash of green — and took our daughter! Cursed her, you did! Where is she?"

Another voice cried out, "Are you a spirit?"

Another voice snarled, "No! He is obviously a wraith..."

The villagers began screaming accusations and questions at him again, "Foul sorcery!"

"Snatcher!"

"Monster!"

"Give her back you devil!"

Harry struggled to come up with an answer, "I do no know! I woke up in this... body. How am I supposed to know —"

"We gave you a chance..." The woman swore under her breath, rage clouding her reason, withdrawing an overly-large knife from her belt, "If you cannot give my daughter back, then I shall at least kill you, monster!"

 _Oh no._

The woman rushed forward, blade raised. With speed that belies her age, she managed to run toward Harry and attempted to stab him with her knife.

Harry fell back, dodging the murderous woman, yelling, "Stop!"

By this time, the others began to run forward to, weapons raised. Stones began to rain upon his shield as the angry villagers picked them up and chuck it at him.

Harry casted Protegos repeatedly as he retreated backward, franticly waving his hand about. Sparks danced in front of his eyes as blows upon strikes rammed against his defence. A head ache began to rummage through his mind, bolts of lightning flashing in his head. Pain.

Enough. Pain.

Harry raised his head to cast a _Bombarda_ —

 _"Don't!"_ A voiced screamed within him.

A flood of foreign emotions welled up in him. These people — he knew them. Somewhere, some how.

He cannot harm them. These are his — what exactly?

"Stop —"

" — Just die already —"

"— Demon spawn —"

Desperate, he yelled, _"Expulso!"_.

A gust of wind, or a wave of force erupted from him. There was the sound of wind, the sound of something colliding and solid thumps. The magic shook the ground, dust and leaves went flying in a dust cloud. Men and women alike were sent tumbling onto the ground, rolling away in heaps, their weapons flying afar.

Harry heaved as he struggled to breath, stricken by a sudden exhaustion, his limbs shaking.

The men and women on the ground laid there, whimpering. Some were bleeding where they struck the earth, some twitching feebly as their shoulders were disjointed, unable to recover immediately. The woman laid on the side of the road, groaning, her scalp bleeding. The children in the back that escaped the onslaught screamed in horror before running to help their parents.

Harry was shaking, his heart beating like mad, his mind in disarray —

He cannot stay. He must not stay.

He must run — run!

Turning his eyes back onto the road — he fled. Flee to where, he had no idea.

* * *

Aragon spurred the Hobbits on — and damn them for not having a single self-preservation instinct.

The memories of what happened in Bree had lost their sharpness in their minds, rendering them from the alert and frightful creatures before straight to the careless and loud people they were when there is any semblance of safeness or protection.

They are loud, heavy footed and always complaining. Out of the three, only Frodo had any idea of what kind of danger they are in. The Midgewater Marshes are thick and boggy, populated by insects and leaches of all kind. If he wasn't wearing such heavy boots, Aragon suspected that he would have at least lost a limb to infection at the end of the journey.

Curiously, the Hobbits seemed to show almost no discomfort treading through the land barefooted. Their tough skinned feet seemed to repel insects and critters alike.

Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck were chatting amiably about the different kinds of insects in the ground, wether if eating them would probably poison them or taste like shrimp. Food were all that this pair can think of.

Samwise was humming softly to himself, his eyes kept to the sky which was cloudy and gloomy. This Hobbit wasn't the smartest one, but he made up for it with his determination and stoicism, not complaining a single bit.

Frodo, however, had his eyes firmly grounded, keeping silent.

In all sense, Aragon found Frodo to be fascinating. Even from meters away, he can sense the allure of the Ring, the soft touches and hooks brushing across his mind.

What he can do with Ring! If he used the Ring now, he would not have to flee like a coward. He can stand his ground and bring the fight to the foul Nazgül, slay them and banished them from their twisted un-life.

But he dared not. The Ring is for no men nor women to wield, only the Dark Lord have power over his creation and in his hour of need, the Ring would fail Aragon if he were to attempt to use it.

Forcefully, he twisted his gaze back to the marsh.

Frodo didn't even seem to acknowledge the presence of the Ring, seemingly lost in his thoughts and worry. Such a thing had seemed impossible. No creatures with any sort of ambition should not hear the call of the Ring, and yet, an example walked next to him.

Aragon decided to ask, "What worries you so now, Mister Baggins?"

The Hobbit seemed startled by the question for a moment, before whispering back, "Its Gandalf. We were to meet at the Prancing Pony, and yet we had not seen a single sign of him since we set out..."

After a few second of though, Aragon answered firmly, "Fret not, hobbit. The grey wizard knows his craft and skill. If he were to be delayed it would be for a good reason. Even if he were to be waylaid by some foul monstrosity, do you believe that we have the ability to aid him? Keep your thoughts calm and give him faith, we would all eventually arrive in Rivendell."

The rest of the walk was uneventful. At the horizon Aragon can not see any sign of their pursuers, which he was grateful for. The sky grew dark as the end of the day drew near. Fortunately for them, they had made good distance through the marshland and had arrived at the Weathertop Hills.

The hill dominated the landscape, the ruins atop the hill glaring down at them with a sense of foreboding and desolation. Years of battle and weather had left their mark on the stone and bricks, carving smooth indents through the surface.

After the bloody battles Weathertop had seen, the hill had a groundless reputation for wraiths and the like which scares off the locals, therefore with some luck, they shouldn't be disturbed tonight.

Aragon announced that for tonight they shall camp atop the hill, a prospect that the hobbits seemed to heartily agree to.

As he made his way to the top, a gust of wind blew unto him. He suddenly noticed that there is a scent of smoke, of freshly burned tinder. A fire, lit not for long to his judgment. And where there is fire, there are people.

 _Or orcs,_ he thought grimly.

Warily, he gestured the hobbits to stand back. Aragon laid his hands on his sword, ready to withdraw as he slowly stalked forward.

He can now hear the cracking of flames, the sound of someone muttering under their breath — there, light!

Behind a fallen pillar, around the base of the former watch tower he can spy a small fire, lit in an indent on the floor. A small figure can be seen huddled around the flame, rocking slightly as it stare into the fire, a tattered cloak wrapped around its body.

How had he been unable to spot the fire from below? Against the darken sky such a flame, no matter how small, should have been clearly visible from a distance.

Unsure how to proceed, Aragon decided to chance his luck and knocked on a pillar, the metal tips of his glove sent a clear ring over the ruins.

Startled, as if brought out of a revere, the figure looked up swiftly and scrambled backwards at the same time.

With a shock, Aragon noticed that the figure, of all things, was female.

The two people stared at each other across the ruin. The woman — no, girl, was definitely human. She had a head of dark hair that she kept tied back in a pony tail. He would deem her visage pretty had he not loved Arwen. Her attire was not unusual but horrendously unsuited for travel. With his eyes, Aragon cannot spy any other tools and luggage that any traveler would have brought. She had no visible weapons, no bows or even a paltry knife to defend herself with.

However, the thing that caught his attention were the eyes.

Deep set in the face, the eyes were like that of green gemstones. No, using dull stones would not compare to the intensity of this pair of eyes. It was green fire lit behind green glass, so eerily bright were her eyes.

Almost unnaturally so.

Suddenly, breaking the silence, a certain Peregrin Took rushed up along side him, speaking, "What is this all about, mister Strider? What happened — Oh."

The girl seemed just as surprised as they felt. She slowly walked backwards, falling into a queer defensive stance that Aragon had not seen before. The Hobbits slowly emerged from behind the rocks, interested.

Clearing his throat, Aragon said loudly, "State your business, stranger,"

Slowly, warily, the girl answered, "Traveling... "

Traveling? Without equipment of any sort, not to mention there is not a single reason why one would stop in Weathertop of all places during a "traveling", this is beyond suspicious.

Continuing, Aragon questions, "Where are your companions?"

"I have none," the girl answered sharply, her gaze sweeping over them, "What about your lot, 'Strider'?"

Aragon did not answer, but instead Meriadoc answered cheerfully, "No need to be alarmed. We came from Bree! We are on our way to —" he was then viciously interrupted with a rap on the head.

Of all chances, they have to run into a "traveler" with her own agendas. Great.

Its rare that anyone would run into others while traveling in remote places like this, especially here on Weathertop. Only the desperate would travel through the Midgewater Marsh without a horse. Any inexperienced traveler would have easily been caught in the marsh's water pits and swallowed by the insects.

The girl looked at him again before slowly saying, "If you are looking for place to stay the night, you are welcome to stay here..."

Aragon nodded stiffly, reluctantly lifting his hand off his sword. He gestured at the patch of ground, surrounded by heavy granite pieces and said to his companions, "My thanks. We will set camp here tonight then."

Without hesitation, the hobbit threw his bags down onto the floor. Meriadoc said joyfully, "Good gracious! Imagine if we had to camp out in the marsh instead."

"Doing so would be an terrible idea," the girl agreed, sitting back down to her fire. Frodo and Samwise had started putting out their sleeping rolls, clearing the ground of small stones and rubbles.

Peregrin opened his bags with gusto and brought out an assortment of fruits and mushrooms, he grinned, "On a gloomy night like this, the best way to lift one's spirit would be an assorted grill! We got mushrooms, tomatoes —"'

"And we also got corn," Meriadoc supplied.

"Yes indeed, now all we need is —"

Alarmed, Aragon snapped, "No fire. No fire tonight."

He then glanced at the girl and said, "My apologies. Danger stalks the lands tonight, stranger. Leaving a fire out would be unwise for travellers on the road."

The girl raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes and got to her feet. Slowly and methodically, she gathered bits of sand and gravel before throwing it onto the small fire pile. Not before long, darkness reigned in the ruins again.

Without water?

Peregrin said sadly, "Now thats the way to ruin one's evening. No warm food nor light to find my path. Wondrous."

The girl slowly sat down against a pillar. She drew her own cloak around her before staying still, like a statue, resting.

Aragon said to the hobbits, "Rest now. Save your strength for tomorrow. Eat if you will to but be quiet with it."

Aragon took the watch at night as the hobbits rested. As a ranger and a Dúnedain, he can function through the night and stand vigil for long hours without tiring or requiring rest. In the shadows of the clouds, the time cannot be told. It may be hours, or moments from daybreak, or even just mere minutes.

He casted his gaze across the marsh and became lost in his thoughts.

The Ring.

The enormity of what will be caught up to him. Unbidden, he found himself worried for Gandalf. Nothing much can stand in a determined Istari's way, no amount of orcs can prevent a wizard from moving through the lands if he was to be alone. So, what manner of trouble did Gandalf find himself in? Last that Aragon knew of was that he was to go to consult Saruman on the matter in Isengard. He wished that Gandalf had made some important discoveries and advert from grimmer fates.

Earlier while before they arrive at the tower, he had handed them each a single blade with a scabbard. Aragon could not imagine what they could actually achieve with these short swords if the Nazgül do come calling. He mused that in that case it would most like simple be used as a form of moral support or deterrent to other potential dangers such as bandits or orcs. With these blades, he had originally planned to leave them here for a while and that he would go around the nearby lands to scout out their way. However, with their unexpected company here, he decided that it would be a bad idea to leave them alone.

For now, the Ring had seemed fairly idle. He could barely feel its brushes across his mind and he was already aware of its presence. The girl that claimed to be a traveler doesn't seemed to be affected by it too. Curious.

The girl... An enigma. Dressed commonly, without tools or equipment for traveling yet made it so far in to the Midgewater Marsh clean and healthy. She didn't even bring food or provisions, or the question of how she started a fire in the first place.

Aragon had a feeling that this "girl" may not be simple. There is a definite 'something' behind her. Of all places, she went to Weathertop, where the current ringbearer was. Was she drawn by its power? No, that cannot be. She was here before they are and seemed to be equally surprised as they are.

Aragon couldn't shake this bout of paranoia from his mind. Something is afoot, but its not something that he can worry about right now. Between this girl and the Nazgül, he would take his chances with a lone traveller.

Suddenly, something seemed to flitter across his senses, across his ears. Something strange and disturbing that left his soul shivering.

Disturbed and alerted, he stood up and stared at the marsh below him, he listened carefully.

The marsh was as it was, wet and spotted like the back of a toad. Water bound bushes appear here and there, in between the occasional small island of dryness and grass.

The wind blew heavily over the putrid air of the marsh and around the Weathertop with a constant howl. However, even so a fog had started to appear in the wind. It sticks to his skin, wet and clammy, disgusting.

As he focused, he filtered out the unnecessary sounds. First goes the wind, then went the sound of insects in the night. Eventually, he could hear a second sound over the wind. Voices. Whisperings. The found of hooves striking the ground.

Whispers that carry over the wind like a mist. Figures moving in the shadows, in the fog. As Aragon continued to stare into the mist, a dark figure stopped, and stared back at Aragon from the edges of the mist.

Nazgül!

He swore under his own breath.

In a swirl of cloaks, he flew over to the sides of the hobbits with utmost haste. He shook Frodo awake first, putting a finger against his lip in a gesture to remain quiet. He hissed, "Shh. Be quiet! They are coming... Go wake the others, tell them to be quiet and arm themselves. Go!"

With wide eyes, the hobbit scrambled off. The gravel and grass went tumbling in his footsteps.

The girl!

Aragon found her still against the pillar, sleeping. Not caring about the etiquettes for now, he roughly shook her awake. Alarmed, the girl yelled, pushing his hands away, "You —!"

"Shh!" He waved his hand in a calming motion, "Something is coming. Prepare yourself,"

"What?" The girl rubbed her eyes.

"Danger is here. Do you have any weapons?"

"No — Wait, why?"

Aragon threw her and exasperated look and said drily, "That would be because something is going to try to kill us all in about three minutes,"Aragon spied a particularly sturdy-looking stick on the ground. He picked it up and threw it to the girl, "If you want to keep on living, I suggest you listen,"

The girl snatched it out of the air without issue and questioned, "Hold on there —"

The Hobbits in the meanwhile had roughly gathered with their scabbards hanging around their waist, carrying both dread and confounded expressions. Peregrin asked, "Strider! What is going on?"

Frodo faintly said, "Pippin? Its the Nazgüls. They are coming... They sense the presence of the Ring..."

"They — Oh no."

"The Naz-what?" The girl questioned, holding her stick.

Aragon drew his own sword, staring out into the mist and muttered, "Nazgüls, fallen kings, twisted by the rings and shadows. They now haunt this world in servitude of the Sauron. Should have known! Should have known they would not lose track of the Ring so easily! Frodo!"

"Yes?"

"Stand back. Grab some torches, light some fire, go!"

The girl narrowed her eyes, "Why are they after you lot? And what ring?"

Aragon readied his blade, tense, "I cannot explain now. If we make it through tonight I will explain it to you."

"You — !"

A terrible screech tore through the air, like air screaming under a door, like a swarm of bats that hunger for fresh blood. The sound sent chills down his spines, the a suffocating feeling grasped his heart. Frodo collapsed onto the floor, his blade clanging onto the floor, hands grasping at his ears in pain.

"Frodo!" Samwise cried out.

"Prepare yourselves! Here they come." Aragon snarled.

And they waited. Waiting in the shadows for the Nazgül to arrive. Frodo had finally gone back on his feet, shakily holding his blade. He seemed to have managed to light his torch, of which he passed to Aragon. The arches of the ruins became a prison, an arena where they waited for their foes to enter. The hobbits jittered around the place, their eyes darting around in the darkness. The girl held her stick uncertainly, her grip tight.

Slowly, methodically, the dark cloaked figures began to emerge. They glided forward, under their dark cloaks came their dark gauntlets, each grasping a Morgul blade. They do not breath, nor do they tire in battle. Under their tattered hoods are of pure darkness, where no Light can shine until their final death, the twisted cloth fluttering without sound.

They readied their blades silently.

The foremost of the five that appeared took a step forward, the left gauntleted hand reached forwards, grasping — The Witch King whispered, "Give us the Ring..."

Aragon stood forward and snarled, "Not under my protection,"

Enraged, the Nazgül abruptly withdrew its arm and let out another bone-chilling screech. With a frenzy, it brought its blade down onto Aragon's, his skill barely enough to block the powerful stroke that would have chopped him in two.

Suddenly, as if a dam had been broken — they all suddenly spurred into action. Samwise yelled, "Get back you devils!", grasping his blade he began to attack in tantrum with his companions.

The Witch King took a sideway sweep, stepping forward. Aragon ducked under the strike, the blade flying over head. He returned with a quick thrust with his own sword of which the Witch King swerved out of the path.

However, while it was doing so, Aragon brought the torch up like a mace. It caught on the edge of the cloak that covers the Nazgül and it quickly caught on fire. While Sauron is weak, and so would his minions, unpowered by his strength. Without the true power of Sauron, the Nazgül have yet to become the terror they ought to be. Their movement are slow and sluggish, the attacks relatively weak and uncoordinated.

With a screech of pain and rage, the Nazgül flailed back, his blade dropping as it was lit on fire.

With their inferior swordplay, the hobbits had quickly been taken out, lying in heaps where they were bodily flung. Seeing that they were awake and none were screaming, Aragon took that none of them had actually be injured by the blade. Aragon threw himself at the Nazgüls, repeating his actions earlier. None dare strike at the swordsman as he danced through the ruins with his torch and blade. The ring wraiths quickly scattered as their leader had fled, abandoning their targets as they too were set on fire, eating away at their essence.

Just as a the last of them leapt out of the ruins, falling into the mist, a blood-curling scream pierced the air. A scream of a mortal.

Frodo! No!.

Aragon twisted around from where he was, searching for the hobbit.

A remaining Nazgül, behind his sight had went for Frodo — all too far from Aragon. Its blade impaled and withdrawn from his shoulder, the hobbit screamed as the tip of the blade broke off in the flesh. The ring wraith raised its blade high to bring down in a killing stoke —

And was blocked with flash of green that lit up the ruin for a second.

Bewildered, both Aragon and the ring wraith was startled.

The girl took a step forward with her arm raised. Aragon in the midst of battle had nearly forgotten about her presence.

Her eyes of emerald burned bright, tongues of toxic seemingly lashed out of the iris — and with a whisper, a roar of fire, a dragon's flame erupted from her hands, blistering heat and billowing wind blew against Aragon's eyes, his own cloak sent fluttering in the blast. Yellow, red and blue shredded the air, an impossibly powerful explosion of fire.

As sudden as the flame came it stopped. The ring wraith had disappeared where it stood, the ground set on fire. Not a single shred of cloth can be found in the soldering remains.

The fire slowly died down before disappearing completely.

Aragon had not be one for staring, especially in the midst of battle, but now — He was staring as if Sauron had suddenly announced his plans for retirement. Green wisps of mist curled around the girls body, her palms glowed white and hot.

The girl smiled tightly, her eyes glazing over, "Long story..."

And if that, the girl suddenly slumped onto the floor next to the Frodo, out cold.

* * *

 _Oh bugger,_ Harry thought to himself, _I've fainted again haven't I?_

He found himself to be standing in a place of white. White walls, white floor, white pillars, white glass that shows nothing beyond. He is once again lost in his own mind which manifests as King Cross Station. He was clothed in white too, mercifully back to his own non-polyjuiced altered body.

 _I really should avoid using too much magic before I find a focus... The Ignis Draconis is definitely a bit too draining._ Looking at how he got knocked all the way down into this level of his subconsciousness, he commented to himself again, _Seems like I will not be waking up any time soon this time... Four or five hours before I recover?_

He walked slowly, bring his hands across a bench, feeling yet unfeeling, like that of a dream. The tracks are empty and no trains awaits. The destination signs were blank and empty, hanging in the sky. The platforms are cleaner than Harry had ever seen it to be and quieter than Harry had ever heard it to be. The clock stood still at twelve and twelve, unmoving.

Under the bench, the piece Tom's soul had left, the grotesque deformed mini-Voldemort did not leave a stain on the pristine white floor. He had decided to board the train to the next world after all, finally banished.

Then, a voice that he had not expected or knew asked, "Who are you?"

Harry blinked twice, slowly turning around.

Standing on the platform some meters behind him was a girl. A girl's whose features mirror the one that he wore in the day, the same clothes and cloak — but white. Her features were pretty and somewhat delicate looking, hair dark and unbound. And she is scowling.

The girl asked again, "Who are you?"

Harry decided to answer, "My name is Harry Potter."

The girl was silent for a while and Harry waited, "So... Harry, where are we?"

"This..." Harry gestured around him, "Would be my mind,"

"Oh,"

"... So, who are you? Whats your name?" Harry felt strangely at ease here, being in his own mind.

"...Elise. Elise of Rotherham, Why in the name of the Valars would I be in your mind?"

"...Elise, right. Um... Tell me, had you been able to see.. things that most people can't?"

The girl took a moment to think, slowly saying, "...Yes. But I would always tell them to go away. My mother had thought that I am mad."

 _Oh no._

"Well.." Harry felt strange having to explain that he might have accidentally possessed her, "It might be that those things you see are real, very real,"

"I knew that,"

"...And being able to see them makes you attract them..." Harry continued on.

"Okay."

"And, I may have accidentally went into your body and knocked your mind out," Harry said grimly.

Elise blinked several times, before asking, "What?"

"I may have taken over your body,"

"You are in my body?" the girl questioned, crossing her arms over her chest and blushing.

"No! Yes! Calm down! Yes, I am currently somehow controlling your body, you _think_ I want to be in it?"

"Are you an evil spirit of some sort?" She squinted.

"I have absolutely no idea what I am right now, I was human, I may have died and yet at the same time not, so I can't really answer, but in my opinion I am _not_ evil," Harry said, exasperated, "In fact, I have a suspicion that I am not from this world at all!"

"Not from this world? What do you mean by that?"

"I am human, but I am pretty sure there are no places from where I came from that uses what ever language that we are using right now."

"You are speaking Mannish now..."

"Mannish?" Harry raised an eyebrow, "The language of Man, I guess?"

She made an affirmative sound, crossing her arms again.

"So, there are other races here with their own language?"

"There are the dwarves, and then there are the Elves,"

"Dwarves, Elves? Well then, I can conclude that what ever that those two are did not exist in where I came from,"

"A world of only Man? That seems unbelievable," Elise asked, somewhat fascinated.

"Not only Man, of course, there are other races — but definitely no dwarves,"

"huh," Elise tapped her foot against the ground, pondering.

"Anyway, back to the matter at hand," Harry waved his arms in an attempt to remember where they broke off topic, "We were talking about what I am, right?"

"Yes. So you said you are, or were, human. Which means, you _may_ have died,"

"May have. I have somehow, for some unknown reason, got drawn into your body as a host,"

"...and now you are controlling me..." The girl glowered, still blushing.

"Yeah,"

"Why don't you get out?"

"Out of your body?"

"What do you think?" Elise said angrily, "This is my body, not yours. Besides, you are a _bloke._ A bloody bloke that decided to —"

"Unfortunately, I have absolutely no idea how to actually leave," Harry said flatly. The girl fell silent.

"...Tried leaving here before?" Elise pointed at the tunnels where the trains would lead in and out, "Walk through one of those... gate?"

"I can't."

"Can't?"

"These tracks... well, they need a train to work—"

The girl questioned, "What is a train?"

"Oh, ugh... They are like giant metal carriages that run on these tracks here," Harry gestured at the railways, "They carry people from stations to stations, like this one."

"How does this help...?"

"In my own mind, these trains are a path to the next world, to the... afterlife. Without one, you will just walk back in here on the other end of the station,"

"So get a... train."

"There will be no trains for me," Harry grimaced, "Mine had left a long time ago and will never come back,"

"Why would it be? Because the dead can't die or pass on again?"

"That would be because..." Harry felt somewhat guilty while saying this, "I may have accidentally become immortal, in some sense. I am not really dead, I think. Just... stuck."

The girl blinked twice again before saying, "Oh. Okay. So, you are stuck. An immortal is stuck in my body until I die."

"Yes,"

"In my body, which you kicked me out of,"

"Yes,"

"And you can't let me control my body instead of taking control yourself...?"

Harry looked at her dryly, before blithely saying, "Apparently not it seems. Did you think I would want to stay in your body? Did you try taking control yourself?"

"Of course I did," Elise said unhappily, "I just can't seem to wake up..."

"Well this seems awfully hopeless for both of us, isn't it?" Harry rubbed his forehead, as if it were to be possible to have an head ache inside your own mind, "So I cannot pass on or leave, apparently, because this is actually _my_ mind."

"Why am I in your mind then?" The girl waved at the station, "Shouldn't I be in my own mind?"

"Because only people like me, people with magical powers can actually have a almost real place inside their own head, most people do not and can never have one," Harry explained, crossing his arms, "That does not mean you are stupid, it only means it cannot manifest as real. So, you, had somehow got here, into my mind. And being magical, I my mind have an advantage over yours which I cannot control... as conceited as that sounds, its true,"

"Magical powers? What do you mean by that? Such as seeing people who should have passed on kind?" The girl snorted, seemingly resigned to the fact that she could not go anywhere for the time being.

"... not exactly," Harry rubbed his chin, "Its a long story," Does this count as violating the Statute of Secrecy? Revealing the existence of wizards? Harry decided where ever that he is, the Ministry of Magic can do absolutely nothing about it.

The girl walked over to a bench and sat down, looking at Harry, "Well, all that we have here is time. Neither of us seemed to be going anywhere now. You might as well start explaining fully why you are now 'stuck' in my body. Maybe when you are done, I can start explaining how this world works..." She then poised with her elbows on her knees and the back of her hand against her chin in a posture that says, _Sit down and start speaking._

Unable to argue against that, Harry sighed and went to sit down next to her on the bench. He thought for a moment, before deciding on a starting point for his story, "The Dursley considered themselves to be a very normal family..."

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Hi ya people. Second chapter up in a jiffy. Surprise! Got too much free time it seems.**

 **Anyway, here goes the second chapter. Harry is _not_ an elfling, and he is certainly not going to overpowered or completely useless. Currently, there are no romantic pairings nor do I plan to shove him with anyone yet. **

**More stuff about the OC may be in the next chapter. The village is sort of made up (since really, there should be random settlements other then Bree shouldn't it?), but most of the locations are hopefully canon.**

 **Later chapters are probably not going to be so quick, especially around November because I will be gone on a trip for a while.**

 **Now thats out of the way — Stay tuned for another chapter! English is not my first language so please do forgive some of my grammatical errors, constructive criticism is of course welcomed. See ya people!**

 **Heavenian out.**


	3. Rivendell

Harry had never really appreciated everything in his world, as would most others. However, being locked up in a cupboard since he was a child had taught him to appreciate more than most. Freedom, clothes, friends, family, love, they were all very foreign to him when he was young.

He had grown up knowing that he was unwanted, thinking that his parents were drunkards that killed themselves in a car crash, with only vague memories of his mother's scream as she died being the only link he ever had with them. He had only ever lived under a cupboard, did the chores, been the laughing stock of the Dursley.

In one way or another, he hated his miserable life.

And then, there was magic.

It would be redundant to say that magic is magical, but it was to him. It was a realm of new possibilities, new and undiscovered, of unimaginable chances.

For the first time in his life, when Hargid broke down the door and gave Dudley a pig tail on that fateful night, Harry felt loved.

For Ron, magic had been the norm. For Hermione, magic was a new world for her to discover. For Draco, it was a servant for his rise to power.

In such a sense, Harry would say that he had learned to be appreciative.

Harry quickly discovered that trying to explain his story that way would be hopeless to someone that never had anything as basic as sliced bread, he would have to explain things in a more fundamental way.

However, as he slowly explained his world to Elise — his host, he under stood that there are still a lot of things that he had taken for granted. Bakeries were something that Elise had never heard of, road paved with stones were never seen, houses of brown bricks were a thing that they never though to ever have. Such was her unfamiliarity to his world he felt like he was telling a fairy tale.

And he still hadn't reached anything that concern him or magic yet.

He discovered that explaining a whole new world is a task that is extremely difficult to do when the only thing that they have in common are that they are people, as in _humans._

How would anyone even start? He started with listing out some of the major countries and their basic histories as much as he can remember, which frankly wasn't much. He gotten most of the countries down — America, England, China, India, Russia, Germany and so on. He talked about their relative locations, their climate diversity and other relative things that give his world a sense of context.

Elise had proved to be a remarkably good listener, if not a bit too enthusiastic to learn about the world that Harry might have came from. The concept of toilets seemed to both fascinate her and repulse her. The idea of books being public was almost incomprehensible to her. She cried, "Books? Free for people to borrow? What — are they worth so little now?"

Harry moved from mundane things to more serious world wide events, such as the industrial revolution. There Harry explained to Elise why and how factories work, and the reason why books are ridiculously cheap. As Elise listened, she looked more and more confounded and amazed.

Harry supposed that most of the inventions were based on real life logic that everyone can understand, such as the idea of mass production would have seem incredibly obvious in hindsight. Elise was lost in the wonders of how the idea of mass production can change the world. Books can be printed, papers are cheap, roads built in weeks — all previously seemingly impossible things.

Elise sent barrages of questions at Harry, asking about the concept of jeans, the idea behind math, the architecture. Harry began to struggle as the questions became harder to answer. He realised that there are a lot of remarkable things about his world that he never thought about. He had absolutely no idea how skyscrapers are built, how a fridge functions, how a car works — yet he tries his best to answer.

"— and that is how plane works," Harry said, "The design of the wings allows the plane to sail over the air as it moves _forward,"_

"But then —" Elise wanted to rebut, but was interrupted by Harry,

"Stop, stop!" Harry more or less shouted, "I've been prattling none stop about my world for at least three hours now."

"Really?" She narrowed her brown eyes, "How do you know?"

"That would be because I can feel my body waking up, I'm getting all twitchy." Harry said dryly, "And when I wake up, I'll need some basic knowledge of how _your_ world works,"

"Hmm?"

"Unlike you," Harry crossed his arms, "I actually have to live in this world and pretend to be you. I can't exactly say to everyone that I am a dead person possessing others, can I?"

"Any why would that be? Also, you don't even know what happens to _my_ body —" Elise pointed at herself, " —after you conveniently lose consciousness,"

"If we are alive after loosing conscious for so long, I would put my chances in that we are in good hands," Harry snapped back, said, "Otherwise, I am afraid I might not be having this conversation with you at all,"

"So you are just gambling away my body now, aren't you?" Elise accused, "It is my life that you've ruined and taken, Harry,"

"No, of course not!"

"So what is it then?"

"I was —" Harry stuttered for a moment, thinking for a reason.

"Hmm? Is my life that cheap?" Elise cried, "You can't just go around and faint on the ground in front of strangers,"

"I saved one of their companions life!" Harry retorted, "He would have been cleaved in two!"

"So? Does it mean that you can judge my life with his on your own?" Elise demanded, brows furrowed, "This is my life you are carrying about. If you die, I will die. I don't know, maybe a world drifting _wizard_ such as you will somehow survive and search for another host to infest? That doesn't mean that you can do what ever you want with my life! I am very much mortal, thank you very much."

Harry can find nothing to say to that. He knew that he was wrong and should mess around with other's people mortality, especially when they are vulnerable. He stood accused and he knew that he was wrong, no matter what.

"I...I... Well..." Harry admitted, "I have nothing to say about that and nothing to change that right now. I am sorry for being reckless. "

Elise stared at him for a several moments, there was a heavy silence between these two souls in a mind's station to death. Finally, Elise sighed and rubbed her face, "I suppose that that will have to do for now." She closed her eyes for a few moments, as if eyes can get tired in an imaginary world. When she opened her eyes, she said, "Harry, you've pulled apart my community. You've wounded my family, friends, relatives. You've terrorised them, you've destroyed my relationship with my own family..."

Harry was about to retort, but Elise cut across his words, "I know its not you fault. You didn't plan to suddenly wake up as me just as I didn't plan to be pushed out of my own body," She looked at him with really solemn eyes, "Harry, I don't know how to say this but... You need to find a way to fix what ever this is. I want to go back to my family, my friends. You can't simply take my body as yours forever."

"Of course I will find a way to give your body back," Harry promised, abashed, "I'll need to find myself my own body. I know that I cannot just take yours!"

"Which means that you will need to take care of my body while you are at it," Elise muttered. She sighed, "I heard that things are getting dangerous from my mother. She said that she saw refugees coming in from the east, all the way from Rohan!"

"Why, is there a war going on?" Harry questioned.

"Not exactly a war. More like raids from orcs and goblins," Elise spat, "The soldiers can keep us safe most time, but still, a lot of villages have been wiped out, guards or not. All the men were killed, the children slaughtered the women —"

"Elise, hold on, you don't have to tell me about these if you don't want to," Harry said.

Elise shook her head and said, "No... it fine. I think you will want to know about these things if you are going to survive,"

Harry thought for a while, before saying, "If you say so... I think we weed to focus a bit more on related topics though," he laced his fingers, placing his elbows on his knees, "What about this — what is an Orc?"

It took Elise a few seconds to think, "Before I can tell you what they are, I'll need to tell you about the... gods and Dark Lords first."

Harry blinked, "Well then. Go on."

Elise said, "Our... Gods, as per your language, are known as the Valar. There were fifteen of them, and together, they sung this world — Arda, or commonly known as Middle Earth — into being."

"Sing?"

"Yes. Sing. They were sent by Eru, or Ilúvatar, the Father of all to shape Arda in his will," Elise explained, "Their voices were powerful enough to create with their will, and so was Arda formed. The Man and Elves are created by Eru himself, while the dwarves are stone — moulded by Aulë — that he breathed life into."

Harry laid back, digesting the information.

Harry had never been fond of religions. There are so many of them and they just cannot agree on it. Of course, he wasn't foolish enough to believe that a god like being do not exist. After all, as a Wizard, Harry was a product of impossibility. It doesn't help that most religion demands the his death or any of his kind, burning them on a stake, quartering them, scattering their remains — yikes.

As of such, he generally steer clear of all religion. He supposed he would be counted as a... Agnostic? Was that the word? The muggles have so many new words now that previously makes no sense at all. He had thought that for someone his age, he was relatively on track with time.

However, in this world, their religion seemed to be a lot more substantial then his world's.

He asked, "Is this version of the religion the same all around Arda?"

Elise frowned, "Versions? Do you mean — oh."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Elise waved away, "I just forgot that in your world religion was something that was debatable. But the answer to your question is yes, all Arda share the same religion."

"How?" Harry asked, "How does it even..."

"The Valar are seemed to take part in this world a lot more then your's did," Elise said, "There are plenty of marks left behind by their presence,"

"Explain?"

"Among the fifteen Valar, one was known as ... Melkor, and he was the strongest one of them all,"

"Let me guess," Harry said almost sardonically, "He wanted power,"

"He wanted power," Elise agreed, "So he waged war against the other Valars. In this war, he was known as the Dark Lord, or Morgoth. It sowed lies and destruction, Man against Elves, atrocities that cannot be said. On of them, are about the Elves."

"Elves? How are they connected to the Orcs?"

"The Arda was originally created for the Elves, and later on, the Men. When Eru placed the Elves unto Arda, Melkor had found them before all. He captured a great many, did unthinkable experiments on them, torturing them, twisting them as he saw fit," Elise crossed her arms, as if a sudden cold wind had blown through the non-existent windows, "And in the pits of his malice, a great number of the first Elves were twisted into the Orcs, beings of evil and will always be evil."

"Always?" Harry raised an eyebrow after contemplating for a second, "No exceptions?"

"None," Elise said sadly, "They are created and bred that way by Melkor. Its a part of their souls that are putrid. There was once a ranger that came to our village. He had said that the only way to help an Orc is to slay him and free its spirit from its mortal bond. Its the kindest thing one can do for them."

Harry felt an inexplicable profound sadness.

In his life, he had met many foes. Most of them would have sought to brought the world to its knees, to bring it to ruins, to subjugate its people. Those are vile and ambitious people, they all have their own agenda to being "evil", or as they say.

Harry would say that no one was born evil, no one was born with a darkened heart. It is almost always because of the environment they are brought up in that blackened their innocence, no matter when or where.

If something can be born evil, is it possible to make them good? Do they lack the capability of morals or is it something more sinister? Orcs are essentially an entire subjugated race. It is pathetic. Its disgusting. He felt an instinctual revilement towards the Orcs.

And now, Harry would have no qualms with freeing them from their torment. When he was still on earth, he had faced a Dark Lord that the public had aptly named the Necromancer. The demented man would torture and kill people, muggles or not. When he kills them, he would stab a specially carved knife into them, trapping their souls to his will, trapping the mind in the body under his power.

The result was a disgusting monster capable of using magic or their minds without any chance of freedom but death, the poor person it was was a helpless soul caught between life and death, slave to another will. Once the soul was bound to the Necromancer, the only way to free them was the destruction of a functioning body, or the Shard Stone that was imbedded in the heart of the victim. Worse then the _Imperius,_ the Necromancer had carved terror throughout Europe for two years before Harry was commissioned to help the European Magical Alliance to slay the Dark Lord.

It was... messy.

It is not like an _imperialised_ Death Eater, where one can break its hold. It was more... sinister. These were fully intelligent men and women, capable of forming their own plans and future still.

But worse. No chance, no way to help or break the chain.

When the Necromancer was finally slain, he still kept his iron grip on the souls he captured, dragging them with him to the afterlife. Thousands of men and women dropped dead where they stood, the Shard Stone in their chest burning through them until a smoking pile of putrid ash remains as its power became uncheck.

The world both mourned and cheered, the Necromancer is dead. The world is safe once more.

Harry knew better now. One must not show mercy to those that cannot be helped, for death is the greatest mercy.

These Orcs deserve death, but not for the reason they though it would be, not for the evil they do.

Harry realised that he had stayed silent for a suspiciously long time. He looked back at Elise and said, "I understand. I will have no qualms with slaying them then,"

Elise slowly nodded, smiling sadly, "Its quite sad, isn't it? To be subjugated like that..."

They both stared at the other platforms for a while, both lost in a sense of sadness for a while. Eventually, Elise spoke up, "Harry, the story does not stop here. Here's the rest of the history between that and now. Other then the Valar, lesser beings called Maia, were sent or Arda to teach and to learn. A Maia named Mairon was one of them,"

Harry raised his eyebrows at this, "... Does he have anything to do with a ring?"

"Why, yes."

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh no," Harry groaned.

"... why?"

Harry messaged his temple for a while before answering, "that would be because before I fainted from exhaustion, I was attacked by a several dark-cloaked creatures with swords that a man called 'Nazgül or something similar while saying something about a ring," he stared at Elise, "Please tell me that I have presumed wrongly, but are these all connected to the being you are going to talk to me about?"

Elise stayed silent, and then smiled tightly in the most sardonic way.

"Well then, seemed like I have arrived in Arda with the most unfortunate timing," Harry said to himself, sighing, "Continue with your story, Elise, seemed like this bit is important,"

She took a deep breath before continuing her narration, "This being name Mairon, was the greatest of all the Maia, not quite a Valar, but much stronger than all others of his kin. While in Valinor, where the Valar lives and rule, he was known to be a craftsman, a craftsman that create items of power fit for the gods. For that, he was named 'the Admirable'.

Even though he was created good and pure, he was still prideful and seek perfection. In the servitude of Melkor he saw a path that would lead him to greatness far beyond what he would achieve alone as a servant to Eru. And he did, under his servitude he was the most cunning and vilest servant of Melkor. During then, Mairon was named Sauron by the common folk, which means 'the abominable'

Of course, when Melkor fell, he seemingly repented, casting the light off himself. But instead, in Arda he began to create his own armies and fortresses, becoming the second Dark Lord. He had tried this several times, but each time he was defeated by Men, Elves and Dwarves, not before sending the world into a stage of despair. And in one time, he adopted the a fair form, and befriend the Elves in disguise.

He had managed to convince them a way of crafting,and the crafting of twenty Rings of Power that would give strength and elongated life to those who wear it, and to their trusted companions as well. He gave the rings to the three races, Elves, Dwarves and Men as gifts. However, in secret, Sauron created a master ring, the One Ring that dominates all others, and with it, he managed to enslaved the nine kings of men, turning them into what you called them, the Nazgül. Those are probably the same creatures that attacked us earlier.

Luckily for us, the Elves had felt the One Ring when Sauron put his on, so that they immediately withdrew theirs from their fingers, preventing them from being enslaved. The Dwarves fared slightly worst. Although they proved to be surprisingly resistant to the corruption of the One Ring, they received a curse instead: They would be plagued by a never ending desire of treasure and immeasurable greed that would one day bring them to ruin.

With the One Ring and his Nazgüls, he almost managed to conquer all of Arda, until he was abruptly defeated in a battle where the uncorrupted king of Men named Isildur managed to cut the One Ring from Sauron's finger, destroying his physical form suddenly. Isildur bore the ring to the fires of Mount Doom, where the ring was crafted and only there it can be unmade. However, as he drew the steps, he was corrupted by the spirit of the Ring, where the power of Sauron had been stored.

Instead of destroying the One Ring, he became convinced that he can wield the One Ring for himself, and left the with a grand victory out of Mordor, where Sauron took as his base. Of course, created by Sauron, the One Ring would only ever served Sauron, it attracted the attention of Orcs and marauders, who attacked Isidur and his small envoy and he was slain, the Ring becoming lose and dropping into the river of Anduin.

And there it laid, lost to the world for two an a half Millennia," Elise concluded.

"Until it was apparently discovered," Harry said dryly,

"Yes, until it was apparently discovered," Elise responded in a manner that is equally dry.

Harry took a moment to comprehend everything that he just heard.

An undying god-like thing searches the world for his ring with his servants so that he can rise to power again because of a freak accident he was destroyed previously. This sounded extremely similar to the tale of Tom Riddle, attempting to murder poor little baby Potter and getting himself blown to pieces instead.

And then, he came back to power.

And it seemed that his Maia, or Umaiar, is on the same track,

Wonderful.

Absolutely _wonderful._

Harry asked tentatively, "Elise, I have to wonder, how do you know all these... things? I take that not all commoners know about history of their world this in-depth,"

Elise answered uncomfortably, "I... I was a apprenticed under the Lore Master of our village, who keeps all records and books that this village have ever seen. I was chose because of... you know, my ability to see things. You see, being able to... commune to the deceased was something that was... prized."

"Oh," Harry answered simply, not terribly surprised. To his knowledge, being any kind of magical in a village would inspire both awe and fear, especially when it concerns the dead. No wonder that the villagers had reacted that way when Harry woke up.

Harry proceded to ask Elise several other questions that concern the Elves, the Dwarves and Men, however, before he was able to finish his list of queries, he gelt a strange tingle back. He felt suddenly lighter all of a sudden, the white world of his mind seemingly glowing to him —

"— and thats why ...Harry, what is happening?" Elise cried out as the arms of the clock started to move on the walls, as a great wind started blowing through the station. An indescribable hum filled the station, the sound of metal rattling grew gradually louder and louder. It was as if the station suddenly became alive, all of a sudden. The smell of musk and crisp air drifted into his nose.

The world, once white, flooded with colours, like ink spilled upon paper. The pristine mosaic filled with spectrums in abrupt clarity, the bricks turned brown and the sunlight shining in golden rays.

"Elise, it seemed that your body is finally waking up," Harry said, staring at the ground which was starting to shake, "Seems that I have to go now,"

"What? Harry — Don't go yet! I —"

It was as if a he was standing in a wind tunnel now, the wind ripping at his imaginary clothes, sending him stumbling. He yelled back through the deafening howl of the wind, "What?"

The rails were ringing, a incomprehensible voice filled the air —

"Harry, wait —" Elise screamed.

Before Harry can hear any more of what she was saying, the wind suddenly blew him off his feet, sucking him into the sky —

And abruptly, for the second time in this world, he woke up.

* * *

Aragon sat at the desk, idly reading an Elvish book as he faced the bed occupied by the girl that he, against the judgement of his practicalness, decided to bring along to Rivendell when she collapsed onto the floor.

Frodo was still being healed by Elrond and his healers in his study, and Aragon was forbidden from entering. So, he sat here in the infirmary, waiting for the girl to wake up, if she decides to do it or not. For some reason, he felt obliged to do so. Despite her show of incredulous power from the night before — her obviously _magical_ flames that burns so brightly — she now laid completely defenceless on the bed, breathing softly.

Lord Elrond had assured him that after both the girl's _Fëa_ and _Hröa_ are in good condition, and should wake up after a long rest, therefore he was content to leave Aragon by their guest's side without a healer. That however, does not explain the force that she wielded before. Aragon had explained the things that transpired on Weathertop to both Elrond and Gandalf alike. They both frowned with an identical contemplative furrow of their brows, before stating that since they do not sense any inherent evil from her and that she had saved Frodo's life from before, she should at least be allowed to explain herself when she awakes.

Aragon couldn't wrap his mind around the strange mysteries that surround the girl. Therefore, he decided not to think about it at all until she wakes up.

Maybe he should be sleeping, after all, it had been a very eventful day and the last time he slept was two nights ago.

But sleep eludes him in the day. He had received the tale from Gandalf, who had arrived before them and with Elrond, sent the wave of water that swept the Nazgüls that hunted Frodo and Arwen.

Saruman's betrayal shocked Aragon, but in foresight it had seemed obvious. And now, it is increasingly worrying him. Lord Elrond had already sent out the couriers to the corners of the world, requesting a representative from each race to their council. Hopefully, in a matter of days, there will be visitors coming in because of their dire news.

Aragon was abruptly disturbed by the stirring of the occupant of the bed. The figure on the bed wiggled, a moan came out.

He swiftly dropped his book onto the table and rushed over to the girl's side. She was squirming, her face clenching as the light pass through her eyes. Aragon whispered, "Shh..."

The girl groaned, rolling to her side. Aragon swiftly checked her temperature, and was relived to see that she was physically well.

The girl groaned again, slowly stretching her eyes and blinking rapidly. The perpetually mild sunlight shone in through the open windows, white and golden light illuminating the pristine chamber in a holy whiteness. Eventually, her eyes focused onto him. The green had seemed to dull considerably in comparison from yesterday night's events, now the orbs had faded from burning green fire to dark emeralds. Curious.

She whispered, "Oh, you..." before slumping back down, her eyes staring at the white ceiling.

Aragon drew the chair closer to the bed and sat on it, crossing his fingers, "My lady, you collapsed last night after your... performance. I saw fit to bring you to healing."

She gave him an tired expression before saying, "I know..." She yawned, struggling to sit up, "Where am I?"

Aragon helped her to sit up. From a nearby beaker, he poured her a cup of water which she accepts graciously, "Rivendell. One of the lands of the Elves... There, don't overtax yourself yet. You had just awoken."

She didn't reply for a while, simply sipping from her cup, and Aragon let her think.

Eventually, she muttered, "Elves, huh?"

"Indeed," Aragon leaned back and raised an eyebrow, "We arrived here before dawn and you had rested for the good part of the day. On a separate note, what shall I refer you as?"

"Uh..." She hesitated for a moment, before saying, "Elise. Elise of... um, Rotherham,"

Aragon knew that she is hiding something, but he decided not to question her for now. She can first have her rest. He offered, "My name is Aragon,"

"So... Aragon," She asked, setting the cup down and stretching slightly, "What happened after I passed out? What became of those dark cloaked _things?_ Nazgüls, right?"

"Yes, those were indeed Nazgüls, We brought you here slightly afterward. Frodo — my companion who was stabbed in the shoulder — was in a sense, poisoned, and would be turned into one of those foul monstrosities if he was not treated," Aragon explained, "Fortunately for us, help arrived and he was brought here quickly with a fast horse and was able to seek help. We arrived later on, having to carry you."

"Oh,"

"You've slept for quite a while," Aragon asked, "How do you feel?"

"Dizzy," she replied after a moment of thought, "And strangely healthy,"

"That would be the Elven air. It would seem to be... more pure than the air out there, it is cleansing to the soul, soothe the mind and body"

"Ahh," she nodded, "So... what happens now?"

"Depends," Aragon decided, "If you can walk properly, then I will summon a maid to bring your clothes to you. If not, then you may rest here until a later time."

As if suddenly aware that she was scantly dressed in a robe, she blushed, "I — think I can walk,"

"Good, thats settled then" Aragon stood up, nonplussed, "After you get dressed, we will have some questions for you. I will wait outside the room then."

With a swirl of his cloak, he swept out of the room.

* * *

He watched as Aragon left the room in a manner that strangely reminded him of Severus, all those forty-odd years ago.

He gently messaged his forehead, wincing as another sharp pain reverberated through his skull. Straining one's magical core is a pain to deal with, causing all sorts of head aches and vertigoes. To be honest, he did not expect to collapse immediately after casting that single spell wandlessly. Even though it was a fairly magic-draining spell, he had been able to cast some other spells wandlessly without collapsing.

 _I must have unconsciously put too much power into that spell,_ He though to himself, _I shouldn't really be this drained._

These thoughts also brought him to another important topic — he lack a proper wand. As with everything else, it seemed nothing but his mind, his soul, made it across. His holly wood, Phoenix Feather wand was missing, his Auror kit, his glasses — all were missing. Even the blasted amulet in the shape of the Deathly Hallows had gone, but as of this moment it would rather have it dangling by his neck.

And more importantly, how will he acquire a wand? He know the basics of wand lore, as it's a pre-requirement in order to be head Auror. If given the right materials and circumstances, he should be able to create a weak, but working wand. At that moment, he was suddenly very glad for the training that he had received.

But that will have to wait for now.

The head ache had faded somewhat now, moving to the back of his mind. His parched throat now watered and eyes cleared. After the fiasco from the day before, he thought that in whatever body he is in he would have had a severely bad-hair-day. To his surprise, its silky to the touch and was... brushed.

Oh god, did someone groom him while he was unconscious?

The room he was in was white, whiter than the purest snow he had ever seen. Each brick was an art, the silk curtains drifting in the breeze, the golden sunlight that warms the air. There was a garden outside the window, pristine bushes and trees around tables that seemed to be carved directly from a chunk of marble, flowing seamlessly that would shame the greatest architects, even though no one currently occupies it.

The air was fresh, clear. He felt like he had been choking on smoke for his entire life and this was a gulp of clean air.

If he believed in an afterlife this would probably be it.

He could hear Aragon speaking to someone behind the wooden door in a language that he did not know. It must be Elvish, Harry concluded.

Not long after, a woman — no, an Elf walked in, carrying a bundle. Definitely _not_ human.

The creature glided in with an almost etherial grace. Her ears — pointed ears, were obvious behind behind the golden hair tied back with a ribbon. Each step she takes seemed to be a dance. The sunlight seem to glitter upon her skin.

This — maid?

This maid, supposedly clothed in a commoner's dress — was impossibly beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful.

 _Perfect being, eh?_ Harry though to himself, quietly observing. The maid brought in a set of clothes — the one that he wore before. They had obviously been cleaned and mended. However, even in their repaired, pristine condition, it still looked positively... dull when compared to the dress the Elf was wearing.

He stopped his staring for a moment when the Elf laid the clothes down onto the table nearby, smoothing them out. She gave him a inquisitive look before asking in a shockingly melodic voice, "Would you require help...?"

Harry hurriedly answer, "Oh no, no thank you. I can handle this on my own,"

The Elf smiled politely before backing out of the room, closing it behind her with a quiet _clop._

Harry took a deep breath. Speaking with an unfamiliar voice is still strange to him.

Slowly, he moved off the bed, casting the blankets aside. His bare feet met the cool stone floors.

Bracing himself, he stood up.

Nothing happened, no vertigo, no vomiting. Good.

A large mirror stood in the corner, intricate carvings engraved on its oval frame, its surface reflecting the sunlight. He walked over too it and stared at himself.

It was the first time that he actually saw himself in this body. He raised his hand through his — Elise's hair, and the image copied his actions, fingers ruffling through the silk hair.. He is, indeed, in Elise's body. His — or her's?

For sanity's sake, Harry decided that he should probably refer it as "hers". It would seem incredibly pompous if he were to claim her body as _his._

Her build was quite slim and small, short even, the long white robe dragging on the floor. Black hair run down smoothly over her shoulders, ending at the elbow. Her eyes were green —

 _Wait, what?_ Harry grabbed the mirror, peering close to take a better look. He was certain remembered that Elise's eyes are definitely brown, not green. He raised a single fine eyebrow and thought, _Its seems like her eye colours changed..._

He remembered learning in a certain Aurors training session about the _Imperious_ curse. His instructor had stated that the best way to know if someone is _I_ _mperio-ed_ was to look at the eyes. Through out many civilisations, eyes were known as "The window to the soul", and looking through them can show many things about the person. The theory of Legilimency was also based upon this magical fact, where eye contact is required to read someone's mind.

Harry theorised that this abrupt change of eye colour would be the result of his influence. This green now resembles much of his originally eye colour, a toxic, _Avada_ green that too was the result of Riddle's attempt at murdering him when he was a child. People told him that this green was his mother's eye colour, but he was sure that it is not. Lily's eye colour, although bright, was never that of a killing curse.

Taking a step back, Harry realised that this figure in the mirror would be him if he were to be born female. The black hair, the green eyes, the under-weight looking form — The trademark Potter signs. The only difference is that one's hair is messy and this one's not.

 _And the glasses,_ he noted.

How old is Elise, anyway? Judging from his image in the mirror, she couldn't be any more than sixteen. His observation only served to further unhinge him.

Disturbed, he casted his gaze back onto the the pile of clothes on the table. He walked over and gingerly laid them out one by one. A white tunic, a leather jerkin, a pair of... breaches? Putting that aside, he looked at the rest of the items, a pair of dark coloured pants, a skirt that he supposes go _over_ the pants, a pair of scrubbed boots and a hair tie for the hair.

 _Alright,_ he thought grimly, _where do I start with these?_

Suddenly, he just realised that an important step in changing clothes is to remove one-self from the ones they were in.

 _Oh god._

Wincing slightly, he thought about what to do. The next time he, whatever happens, he goes back into the deep recesses of his mind, Elise would murder him.

He picked up the tunic and brought it to the bed.

Grimacing, he closed his eyes and swiftly brought the robe over his head and onto the floor. Blindly, he picked up the tunic from the bed and wrapped it around him, tunnelling his arms though the sleeves and buttoning up hastily.

There, now he didn't see anything and nor did he touch anything undue.

Cautiously, he reopened his eyes and was relieved to find that the tunic was long enough to cover his — her thighs. Trying not to think about the fabric rubbing over his chest, he walked over to the rest of the clothes and swiftly dressed himself. Having a mental age of over fifty, he had gotten pretty good at suppressing his not-so-decent thoughts.

Just as he was tying his hair back, Aragon's voice rang from beyond the door, "Do you require help, my lady?"

Harry yelled back, "No, I am fine, thank you. Just a moment!"

He folded the robe back into a neat square and placed it back onto the table before hurrying to the door, pulling it open.

It opened to a corridor, walls one side and the other pillars, leading to a garden.

Aragon stood there, leaning on the wall and gazing out into the garden. He looked at Harry when he opened the door, "How do you feel?"

"Suitably refreshed," Harry replied, looking around, "What happens now?"

"Now? Questions, and food," said Aragon, gesturing to the other end of the hall, "Follow me,"

And followed he did. Aragon led Harry through a maze of corridors and buildings, effectively giving him a tour of Rivendell. The other Elves gave them a wide berth, their graceful forms, shrouded in elegant white robes, moving between columns and gardens.

With surprise, Harry noted can hear the sound of rapid running water as they neared an open ended corridor.

Harry asked, "Are we near a river? I can hear water rushing..."

Then words failed him.

He stood on a bridge — one that spans not water but buildings —the sun light shining in all its glory upon the valley. Oh no, he is not next to a mere river, he is next to a water fall. From this view, he could see the entire valley, the water washing through the rocks, the gleaming tiles of the buildings, the verdant greenery that seem to meld with the stones, the sunlight enrapturing everything in a golden glow.

A gentle breeze of constant spring blew through the golden leaves, the fine mist from the water fall rising up to the sky, the sounds of countless life chirping and living, the pulse of _life —_ The sight sent a tingle up his spine.

This was a view that surpasses almost everything that he had ever seen before in his life — or to say, second life.

He was struck with a sense of déjà vu. He remembered the first day when he arrived at Hogwarts, the looming castle in all its majesty and grandness, the spiralling towers and arches. Sitting in a boat, the great squid swimming underneath, passing through the underground port into the castle.

This place positively wafts off magic.

Aragon voice brought him back to reality, "... a river indeed," Aragon pointed at the river, "That is the river Bruinen. It is the only way in. We passed by the Ford of Bruinen, which was further upstream when we brought you here. However, this is not the time for a history lesson, we have to move on now,"

Reluctantly, Harry tore his gaze off the view and followed Aragon on into the mass of marble buildings.

Through countless corridors, stairs and sights, he found himself to be led deeper and deeper into the building. Despite its indoor status, natural light still found its way in, lighting up the halls in white and pleasant yellow.

And as abruptly as he awoke, he found himself to have arrived in some form of... a study. No, a library with a balcony, looking out into the forest and the gardens. Surrounded by countless shelves and bookcases was a small podium, which stood a stone table. Three chairs sit aside the table, occupied by two robed figures.

One smokes a pipe, an impressively large grey beard atop his grey robes, a gnarled wooden staff left leaning against a wall with a grey hat perched atop. Despite his obvious great age, he seemed to radiate a form of power and strength. The other figure wore an white elvish robe, a circlet tying his rich brown hair back on his pointy ears, leisurely reading a book.

As Aragon approached, he spoke a word of greeting, one that Harry of course did not comprehend as it was once again in Elvish.

The robed old man answered with a smile, blowing out a puff of smoke. Instead of dispersing, the smoke tumbled through the air into a rearing white horse, prancing through smoke loops before fading away, at which Harry watched with wide eyes.

Magic, that was magic.

The old man sat his pipe down on the table and said, "I see that our young guest is here. My name is Gandalf the Grey... Do not be alarmed, young one, come and sit!"

Numbly, Harry slowly moved and sat down on the only vacant chair, staring at the two figures. The Elf sat down his book too and regarded him gently with his eyes, "I hope you find our hospitality welcoming, _hén._ I am Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell."

Harry was speechless. From his now diminutive statue, these two beings seemed to be hopelessly majestic, even though he knew that he too could be considered as legendary back on... Earth? His lifetime of battling and training seem to suddenly pale in his mind, as if... No, these feelings are not his. He knew that Harry would have reacted rather differently...

"Lord Elrond, don't frighten her," Gandalf chided, looking back at him, "We only have a few questions, young one. We have given our names, and yours would be...?"

His throat seemed ridiculously dry at the moment, stuttering, he managed, "Elise — Elise of Rotherham,"

The old man nodded, "Elise, I trust that you know of the events that transpired upon Weathertop Hill?"

Hesitantly, Harry nodded — Why was he being hesitant? What was going on? "I was staying there for the night when Aragon here and his companions arrived. We came to an agreement for the night... and then..."

Gandalf supplied, "The Ring Wraiths, yes? Aragon had told me about yesterdays events," he then laid his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and said in a solemn voice, "It would seem that it was only due to your action that Frodo was able to survive. For that, you have my thanks,"

"Err... You are welcome?"

Lord Elrond said, "We knew that you have some form of ability that allowed you to drive off — no, destroy a Ring Wraith. A fire, unlike any that we have seen or heard..."

Harry gulped, his heart beating hard.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled in a manner that eerily reminded Harry of Dumbledore, taking a deep breath through his pipe, "Of course we will not push you for your knowledge, you may relax for that." He gestured toward Lord Elrond and continued, "Unless you plan to return to Rotherham as of this instant, I trust that you would find Rivendell to be a most hospitable stay,"

Harry's mind raced.

Should he tell them? Should he — no — can he trust these people who offered him shelter?

Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey, if he remembered correctly from his conversation with Elise. A wizard.

Someone that may be able to help him in his particular... condition.

However, how will they react to his confession. To be honest, Harry is now a body-snatching _magical, dangerous undead._ Judging from experience, people tend to react extremely badly to the idea of having a... undead, a non-being next to them, especially when it already have its first victim, Elise herself.

On the other hand, Harry cannot afford to let this opportunity to slip away, the chance to return back to earth, to figure out what on earth happened to him.

As he sat there, conflicted, Lord Elrond said gently, "You need not fret for now, make your decisions later. The day is still early. Would you rather that you have a more... Private conversation with master Gandalf here? I sense that you have much to say, though not to me."

Startled, Harry managed to stammer, "Y-Yes. I would appreciate that."

Lord Elrond nodded before standing up, revealing his rather inhumanly tall height. He spoke some inexplicable Elvish words to Aragon before departing the room together, closing the oaken door behind them with a small _clop!_

And with that, only Gandalf himself remains sitting at the table with him, his aged eyes boring intensely into his own. Puffing another mouthful of smoke, he spoke, "Speak freely, child. Is there something that you must confide with me?"

Harry took a deep breath, carefully forming his words in his mind, "Master Gandalf, the powers I used yesterday to defeat the Nazgùls... It's foreign."

"Foreign?" Gandalf frowned, setting his pipe down, "Do you mean that you channel some out worldly power, or...?"

"No. — it's a spirit of some sort. A very powerful one,"

"Pray tell, how did this spirit happen upon you?"

Harry combed his memories for the appropriate words, "Ever since I was young, I had always been able to sense the presence of the dead, and even commune with them, after a fashion."

"A very rare gift, and a dangerous one," Gandalf commented seriously, "Does this happen to have something to do with your pressence at Weathertop?"

"Several days ago, before the events that transpired yesterday, I had suddenly been visited upon by a spirit," Harry found himself saying, "In a moment of confusion as the spirit... possessed me, I've been suddenly treated as a monster. When my family and neighbours attempted to secure me, I... uh... Broke out. I harmed my own family in this fit of madness. And so, I've exiled myself. I only happened to be resting at the... Weathertop, as you called it, when the event earlier occurred."

Gandalf slowly tapped the table several time with his index finger, "Whatever the happened, I still must be grateful for your most invaluable intervention. If it weren't for you — and your companion's aid, young Frodo would have most certainly be slain, or very much near death. However, I sense no ill intent — To be honest, from the moment you were carried into Rivendell, I could see this _most peculiar_ shroud of power surrounding you. I was worried for a moment, but it seemed that your... mysterious friend weren't so hostile, but merely lost. Tell me, does it have a name?"

"... His name was Harry," Harry answered, feeling quite stupid saying his own name, "He said that in his world there was a magical catastrophe, and he was accidentally banished into the... I do not know what it was called,"

"Limbo," Gandalf muttered, "No wonder that he was drawn to you, one so suitable to host unlife. Elise, the world, this world, is not the only one in existence, but they are all separated by a veil. From time to time, things, souls, found themselves slipping through the cracks and holes, falling through the fabric into the myriad of different worlds. This Harry had most likely suffered such a fate,"

Harry perked up with interest, "Such things happened before?"

"Indeed,"

"What happened?"

"It died," Gandalf simply said, "This unfortunate soul were not so powerful as your new companion. Within a year of its arrival, it had perished in this world. This is not the first, nor will it be the last for such a thing to happen. However, it is quite unusual l — no, more of a once in a tens of thousand years, will such a powerful being, capable of bring ruin to a Ring Wraith fall into our world,"

Harry deflated, "So... Is there no way to send him back to the world he belongs in?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. There is always a way when there is magic involved, but _how,_ thats the question to ask," Gandalf mused, "However, as of this moment, I have nothing that can aid you in your quest. None of the books here, or even in Minas Tirith, would have a documentation of such a ritual. I would gladly give all of my help to aid you it weren't for the fact that we have a more pressing matter."

Harry gulped, "... Sauron,"

"Sauron _and_ Saruman now, apparently," Gandalf muttered darkly, but he quickly recovered his composure, "I would not drag you into such a war — its not place for children, or any living being for that matter."

He laced his fingers on the table, "I will not try to hide this, but would you aid us? You and your spirit have shown to be extremely powerful — and in this upcoming war, we will need all the allies that we can get,"

Harry fidgeted on his seat, uncomfortable. This is not what he bargained for, and he made a promise to not endanger himself or Elise. But yet, this is about the only way this can go. Harry would never ally himself with the likes of Sauron, and thus he must help.

"Do not make your decision now," Gandalf raised a hand, standing up, "We have ample time before it must be made, but as of now, midday draws near. If my nose doesn't lie, I believe a feast is being prepared,"

Harry sniffed, and concluded that Gandalf was correct. The definite scent of cooked food drifted in through the balcony. Below in the garden were a blur of activity, food being laid out on stony tables under the gentle sun.

"Eat and rest for now, young Elise," Gandalf said, grabbing his staff, donning his pointy hat and smothering his pipe, "I've heard that sunrises are a particularly good time to decide on important matters."

And with that, Gandalf left the room.

With nothing much to do, Harry followed suit.


	4. The Council of Elrond

Visitors came sporadically, like dripping water that pools in a basin.

Not that Harry would use that as an analogy for the actual visitors directly, for that would be rude to them. In any case, that was the first description that came to his mind immediately as the normally peaceful Rivendell was filled up with banter and grim agitation. Not that it stopped the fact that the Elves seem to host parties every night, songs and tales often flows till the dark of night. It was a very pleasant stay, even though Harry wasn't allowed to drink because of his supposed age and supposed gender modesty.

The elves prepared larger feasts, the guards stood with a tad more wariness as foreign people came to stay. It was to say, oddly swift to have so many visitors after the ring's recent arrival. There were Dwarves, stocky and short with gigantic beards to compensate for the lack of height. Since Harry couldn't exactly ask openly about the newest arrivals without sounding overly bothersome and suspicious, he could only glean from causal conversations between the elves that the company of Dwarves had came from some place known as Iron Hills. The companies' leaders, a Glóin and Gimli came looking for a council with Lord Elrond, concerning something about someplace called "Mordor" and Hobbits.

There were also Elves from other Elven cities, traveling over to Rivendell. At first Harry didn't notice them, seeing that the Elves all look strikingly similar. It was only after talking with Lord Elrond did he warn him not to bother the "new" Elves that he learns about their arrival.

Seeing that he couldn't contribute much, Harry decided to spend his time staying in Rivendell learning and filling in the gaps in his knowledge about this new world, of which Gandalf managed to oblige, liking the idea of teaching someone. Not that there was much for him to do anyway, since a long wait was a must for the invited parties to arrive.

Every morning, after breaking a brief breakfast Harry would head to the study where Gandalf would lay out detailed maps and models, teaching him about the geography of the Middle Earth. It was quick for him to learn, since most of the stuff that he was "learning" was already known to Elise herself, so there was less issue with it. It also extends to herbology, teaching him what plants have what property and affinity, and which are safe to eat and which are toxic to the touch.

To be honest, Harry was decidedly in awe of Gandalf, not only because he out-ages him in an incomprehensible amount of years, but also because the Istari, as they are called, are actual deities in human form. Back on Earth, even in the magical world actually deities haven't been recorded down as an actual proven existence. Kelpies and Grindylows are classified as "Demons", but Harry was very sure that they are not of the religious variation.

Gandalf, however, is of an entirely different status.

Harry was not sure what the being can actually do, but it seemed that it can be extremely powerful. Gandalf hid his true strength beneath the guise of a grey old man, which in most cases might work on the unwary. However, to Harry, magical old men with majestic great beards screams danger and power to him.

Harry wondered what he actually looks like, his "true" form, if he actually have one.

On the other hand, the periodical de ja vu feeling had ceased, and Harry reasoned to be that Elise herself had never been to Rivendell, and nothing triggers her memories. At the same time, through out the stay Harry hadn't been able to "speak" with Elise at all. Occlumency contributed nothing on the matter and it seems like only some form of extreme exhaustion or other ways of traveling deep into his subconscious can Harry actually speak with the other soul inside.

This strangely reminded Harry of a Horcrux, but instead of a soul fragment, an entire soul got lodged and replaced the body's original soul as the dominant soul, taking control. That thought rather disturbing, since currently he realised that he basically did a Voldemort on Elise. Harry remembers that during the time that he actually went into the deepest recesses of his mind — the train station — was either at door's step or at extreme magical exhaustion.

Harry was extremely reluctant to come close to either, so he hadn't been paying much attention to either. He had absolutely no wish to try to die — but not die.

During his stay, there were quite a few problems that he had to deal with.

The most obvious one would be that he is currently in the body of a young girl, so most private things were rather difficult to handle without probably offending his host. While he couldn't really _not_ defecate, he did all he could to not think about it while preforming the task and Scourgifying himself when he was done. The same goes for most other cleaning activities such as bath times.

In order to pretend that he actually did use the bathtubs, he had to splash water on the edges of the tub and wash his hair manually to get the scent of the soap on him, because Scourgify leaves one curiously scentless. He also have to muddy the waters ever so slightly to give the impression that someone did use the tub after all.

However, since using magic would somehow cause his eyes to magically glow, he had to do his business rather quickly so that the light fades. It usually only take a minute or two for the light to go out for a simple charm like Scourgify, but for things a bit more taxing like conjuring a flower would light his eyes up for at least ten minutes. Therefore, he could safely conclude that the glow's length and intensity have a direct correlation to the amount of magic done.

The other problem that comes once at a month was also rather… new. Cramps would appear in parts of his body that he didn't even knew existed and randomly bleeding down there put an end to conversations pretty fast. He felt lucky that tampons were not an idea that only existed in the modern world and that Middle Earth have its own equivalents. He shudders to think of the sensation of blood silently dripping down one's thigh while eating at the dinner table with the Elves and holding a conversation.

This must be what Ginny felt like during her periods. No wonder the Wizarding World had so many different variations of magical toiletries once they discovered the practical, everyday uses of magic.

The last problem would be his reception by the people of Rivendell. Most of them had absolutely no idea why he was even staying in the Elven city. Only a selected few, like Gandalf, Elrond, Aragon and the hobbits know that his identity "Elise" could cast magic. However, even Gandalf, the only person who knew of the "spirit", was completely baffled when he conjured a flower as a demonstration, another sign of just otherworldly his powers are.

Of course, he couldn't go around and throw magic about. It seemed like sorcery was something that was extremely dangerous to trifle with, with being on both ends of it perilous in nature.

Furthermore, most magic users are Wizards, as the common called them — are Istaris, a literal divine being. Most other users of magic are either thousands of year old, like Galadriel, have many years of training and hard work before even capable of doing anything remotely magical.

However, despite the rarity of people that could actually use magic, it seemed like the Elves had no shortage of clearly magical items: A cloak that when covered over its owner renders their image an inconspicuous rock, a rope that tightens and untie at its owner's will, flasks that glow and fire that burns on nothing — all items that interests Harry greatly.

Further investigation reveals that all of these item's magical power appeared during its making, with the will and power of the smith being the driving force and director of its magical power in the heat of fire. Gandalf couldn't explain it more than that for he himself does not know why and how the items were created, even though he too bears a magical ring — a gift from an other divine being that seemed quite nifty.

Days flies as Harry kept himself busy with various things — such as creating a working wand. He had asked to borrow Gandalf's staff for a test, of which he gladly obliged. After a quick try, he concluded that a staff, created by god-like beings, was absolutely useless in his hands. This left him with the only option — to create his own wand if he ever wants to gain access to the true spectrum of his wizarding powers.

The only problem was that he only knew the basics on wand crafts. A wand works in ways that are surprisingly difficult to comprehend. While the will of the caster is the driving force behind magic, a wand, waved correctly or not, will always have a profound effect on the spell being cast. This was because, as he had learned, a wand essentially forms a magical array with it's waves and flicks, focusing magic into a unified version that both saves time and magical power. This also lead to another issue, being that even though one could cast without waving a wand at all, if one waved their wand during the cast in a contradicting pattern, the spell will still falter and fail.

There were no shortages of wood as raw materials in Rivendell, and the basic runes required to create a simple wand is rather easy to carve and remember. The woods in Rivendell are definitely saturated in magic, just by standing near one he would occasionally have sudden glimpses of incomprehensible images fluttering through his eyes: faces, people, movement, birds, wind, insects — all sorts of things through this strange connection. Harry thought that it might be the trees somehow sending out magical signatures, interfering with his own. This alone is curious, as this only applies to magical items — like horcruxes. He was sure that this doesn't meant the trees are horcruxes, but there are something definitely strange and magical about them.

The only difficult part is to acquire a part of a magical creature. Wands usually work on the principle of symbolism of three: The wand wood is the body which transfer the magic, where the runes are carved and focuses it. The wizard/witch is the mind, the driving force and will behind the magic, the conductor of this weaving and ever changing magic field that surrounds the earth. These two are rather easy to understand and straight forward, and shouldn't be hard to achieve.

The magical animal creature parts, however, serves a very peculiar role in the construction of a wand. A wand without an animal core will simply remain inert, silent. No matter how you wave it, the wand will simply not comply, sliding through the magical fields like a ship without an engine. The uses of a magical creature part, is to _bring the wand to life._ It has the ability to simulate a core when encased in magical wood, the runes forming all the pathways to create a an environment where the core can exist. For some scholarly reason, the hybrid had the ability to form focused, definite spells when the right runes were inscribed and the magic converge to the tip of the wand through the lines within the wood. This gives the wizard an unmatched ability for precision and an edge over wandless magic.

In fact, the properties of using magical animal parts weren't something particularly new either. It had existed for thousands of years but had only been included within wand making during the Renaissance, where the magical folks and afford to congregate into societies once more, spurred on by the sudden rush and need for innovations. The earliest cases of using animal parts had often surprised most wizards and witches because of its inherant disreputable nature — rituals.

Rituals of all kinds had traditionally used sacrifices of some sort of visceral item, like blood and pain, perhaps even death. Augurs and oracles since time memorial had used sacrificial rituals to look into the future, and dark wizards and the like had used them to gain power, one form or another. Willing sacrifices works the best, as demonstrated by his own mother Lily Evans, successfully creating a shield that can even repel the un-repellable Avada Kedavra. Curiously, the more magical and "conscious" the being is, the more power that can be retrieved from a sacrifices.

This is curious, because while everyone sacrifices things to different beings, it still works. The Department of Mysterious had then concluded that rituals do not actually send things to Gods, but obey some form of exchange according to some yet to be known magical laws. This is good, because this means that one cannot summon demons or otherworldly beings and somehow doom the entirety of the Earth, and that the "souls" of the sacrificed are not consumed by some malicious being whom feeds on suffering and death.

On that note, while in theory that sacrificing a human/elf/Istari would create a working "animal part" for a wand, Harry would very much rather not kill anyone and was averse to the idea. He briefly humoured the ideas of using Orcs and Goblins as the base for his little "sacrifice", but ran into the problem of just where and how will he manage to find a goblin and set up a ritual without the general population of the world trying to murder him. At the same time, he wasn't sure if he wanted bits and pieces of orcs in his wand, their nature mayhap affecting the wand itself.

Harry spent days contemplating on what exactly should he do, sitting in the room that he was allocated to, since without a wand or a media he is essentially limited at what he could do. He could only Apparate very short distances — give or take half a mile at maximum without risks of splinching — something about this world's magical field seemed to be disapproving people forming instantaneous spacial foldings. Runes, however, still works, as demonstrated by his newest bottomless bag that he made during his spare time with a swift sew.

Without a wand, all he could do is to prepare for the future, however he can.

* * *

Time passed quickly.

In a blink of the eye, weeks passed by and the population of Rivendell filled to the brim, hushes filled the air and worry evidential on everyone's face. The air was thick, palpable even as anxiousness seemingly flood the city. Even the normally unflappable looking Elves walked with a hurried pace.

Harry had absolutely no idea what will come to pass, but he was sure that _something,_ was happening.

The sun had risen not too long ago and he had broken his fast with a simple meal of bread and cider. The sunshine seemed almost pale in comparison to the magnificent view he received several weeks earlier, but not even so could dampen the beauty of Rivendell. Outside of his window, the birds still chirp and sing, despite being less enthusiastic about it then usual.

He tapped his quill on the parchment, deep in thought. On the table were sets of papers and crumpled balls, charcoal pencils and inkwells littering here and there in an organised mess. Dominating the centre, however, was a circular drawing of lines.

A runic design, to be precise. He had made use of different ancient languages, including Aztec and even some Goblin runes in his craft. The result was a circular design, interjected with geometrical lines and multitude of symbols. He had spent several nights working on it, in his dreams and waking hours.

Harry had never properly taken Ancient Runes or Magic Theory as a subject, but throughout his time with Hermione and Auror training he had picked up quite a few techniques and pointers on the matter. He would place himself to be at least somewhat adequate in making Ward Stones and other various Runes related design, but definitely not a master at doing so.

However, it was enough for him to be able to create the array in front of him.

The runic design was supposed to go onto an amulet of sorts, it's purpose being that it can "Repel Harm Directed Approaches", which meant that it is supposed to defend him against attacks, magical or physical.

The concept of this design was originally made during the Medieval Period by the Roark the Runist, supposedly able to defend against cannons and such from being able to breach castle walls when inscribed into a ward stone.

It failed spectacularly, and the poor wizard was blown to bits — after which the array was forgotten and abandoned.

However, as time passed on, someone rediscovered the design and improved it with more modern techniques, able to fit it onto a trinket or such. The result was that the once castle-defender was reduced to a more personalised defence. It did lessened in power, and only able to take arrows instead of volleys of muskets at once now — but damn useful in avoiding getting shredded into confetti by shrapnel when explosion spells erupt next to you.

Therefore, it became part of the Auror equipment basics.

The only issue left is to actually create an amulet — and the tricky part was that one cannot craft the runes in after the metal cooled, it must be done while it's still heated and very much hot. Aside from that, there must be no "formed" magic involved other than the fire as the metal must be magically "pure"

And another problem snapped in his mind —how would he gain access to a forge at all? If he was not mistaken, old worlds are often male dominant and his current form would cause people to question. Not to mention, his identity as a visitor and a "child" prevents him from doing laborious things — even the hobbits are older than he is!

He tapped his quill on the table again, this time irritation. He gazed across his room, eyes searching for inspiration.

 _Pillow, blanket, bed, desk, paper, pen, glass, birds..._

He suppose that he can sew it into a handkerchief or something similar — no one would question that, _right?_

Suddenly, an idea came to him as he stared at the tree right outside.

The trees here in Rivendell were very magically charged... and there are bound to be some fallen branches somewhere out there.

Harry congratulated himself as he went ahead and ripped a branch right off the tree —

 _Pain._

He gasped suddenly as a sensation not unlike a turf of hair being violently torn off echoed through his mind.

He rubbed his forehead gingerly as a feeling faded, slowly taking his time to figure out what just happened.

 _Oh._

 _Right, the trees are alive and they are unhappy about being plucked._

Forlornly, he looked at the branch in his hand, the magic seemed to tingle aggressively under his fingers.

 _Oh no, this wouldn't do at all._

This branch is now only acceptable as a club to whack someone over the head with, as that it was somewhat "cursed" by angry tree spirits.

Then he suddenly remembered harvesting plant wood for magical uses also needs to be done by professionals.

 _Damn._

 _A seed, perhaps?_

It seems like he had to appease the spirt of the trees or sacrifice something before the plant would be willing to trade something for the wood.

 _What would a tree want? Tree-keeping? Pest extermination? Bouquets?_

 _Why is making a single simple protective charm so complicated?_

Suddenly, another inspiration struck him.

As a deficit not-so-human-magical-being, his current body can technically be used as a magical conduit that he can charges with his magic constantly. Normally, magical tattoos works somewhat limitedly on wizard skins, as the wizard himself counts as a magical creature and their natural resistance quickly purges themselves of magical influences.

 _But as Elise herself is not a wizard, not the version I got on Earth at any rate, it means that magical influences on her should last as long as everything else on non-magical creatures. Further more, by being hosting me I can channel my magic into the array as I need, meaning no need to manually recharge as I use magic at all times anyway. The only issue is that it must not be_ _permanent and is erasable._

 _In that sense,_ he thought furiously, _I only need to make something that can apply the runic design on my skin repeatedly, something like a... like a..._

 _—An ink stamp._

 _I am a genius._

For the first time in many days, he felt himself smiling.

Work flowed quickly after so, but even so it took the greater part of the morning for the stamp to be made.

He used the branch that he had originally snapped off as a the main structure, using a flint to cut pieces off the lump until it resembles a rather large chess piece, it's surface raw and light.

Over the flatter end, he layered his drawing onto circular surface, being careful to align the parchment to the centre. With a Trace and Raise spell, he tugged the image onto the wood in a puff of golden sparks, the paper fluttering away in pieces as the spell finished. It was also extremely coincidental that the it only requires the ink to be non-magical, and doesn't matter if the stamp itself was made with magical influences or not. This meant that use magic to polish the stamp up, but not much as he couldn't risk his eyes glowing past lunch time.

However, that was not the end of his task. Multiple protective layers and charms must be used to keep the stamp itself safe and intact, so therefore he applied a liberal dose of creativity and used sap that he withdrew from the tree to create a shiny surface. After so, he casted a Drying Charm on the stamp to prevent rot and other issues that may arise, at the same time killing most micro-organisms within.

Harry may not be a carpenter, but common sense told him that it would be bad if the stamp sprouted in his hand.

It was right before midday when he finally finished, the table covered with splinters and wood pieces, carelessly swept into a pile. The air was warm and humid,his hair stuck to his forehead in sweat and his thin arms ached but he couldn't bring himself to care at all.

The stamp was finally finished, the wooden craft sitting proudly on the tabletop with the slightest ray of sunshine through the open on it's pristine surface.

 _Merlin's beard, if this is what arts and craft is all about, no wonder they are so bloody expensive._

Harry gazed outside the window, the wind blowing in carried the scent of food being prepared for a feast. His stomach growled, he realised that he had been working for five hours straight and that he was positively famished. The prospect of food lifted his spirits even more, almost like a celebration to his success.

But then, there will still be a while before food is served, so he though that he might as well test his product now. No point waiting and hoping that it actually works.

A sudden pang of worry shot through him as he considered the possibilty of it not working, but swiftly reassured himself that his maths were correct and had double checked the theories behind them. It _must_ work.

Putting his fear behind him, he prepared a small clothe, stained with ink and faux stamped it with the Rune Stamp ( or so he christened it ), covering the raised array with a thin layer of ink.

Now the question was where should he stamp it.

After a small thought he decided that the shoulder would probably be the best spot, as it was covered by his long sleeves and would be easy to clean.

Rolling up his sleeves and without a second thought, he brought the stamp down, the cold wooden surface kissing his skin.

As soon as the ink fully formed the array, he could feel something happening, the design on his shoulder warming up, glowing brightly for a moment before fading away. A strange sensation ruined through his arm, like an icy hot rope coiling through his muscles.

He lifted the stamp and set it down on the table gently before taking a look at his — Elise's shoulder.

The print was flawless and complete, the ink a colour of light green that was definitely not from the ink itself, a emitting a small glow that wouldn't even be seen in the dark provided that it was covered by clothing.

But otherwise, Harry doesn't feel much different at all as he moved his shoulder about. No strange power boost, not urges, no aches or burns — which was a very good sign.

 _Good, good... Nothing went wrong yet._

It was, however, time to have lunch. The tell-tale bell rang softly in the breeze as it beckoned the Elves, Dwarves and Man alike to feast together.

That reminded him that his stomach was growling audibly, and this eventful morning had drained him considerably. Crafting all morning had left him tired and somewhat sleepy despite it being barely halfway through the day.

Through the mirror in the corner, he checked his — her eyes to see if it were glowing. To her relief, it's only a dull glow that would go unnoticed in the day light. If he spent a few more minutes cleaning up his table, by the time he arrives at the feast hall he light should have faded to non-existent.

* * *

His rush of success kept him excited for the rest of the day despite the general atmosphere of gloom. As he sat down at the tables in the dining hall, he noted the subdued words spoken by the diners. The elves spoke to themselves, the dwarves drank their wine with more fervour than usual and the humans — _Men,_ kept casting suspicious gazes towards others.

Ignoring the usual curious gazes, he grabbed himself a plate and some servings of soup and bread, along with a small salad. While Harry's appetite was not small, his current body certainly couldn't handle the amount he used to have.

 _What a shame,_ he thought to himself as he chowed down on a piece of bread, _"this soup is bloody amazing. Must be some of there strange spices that they grow."_

However, as he ate, he noticed that there were a few people that are missing. He gave the crowd a brief survey and immediately noticed what was wrong.

The respective "leaders" of each race present were absent from the tables, and the hobbits too. Lord Elrond, Frodo, Gandalf, the new comer Elves and some other Men that lead their group were not at the table with them.

Were there perchance some secret meeting? Harry knew that the cause of the visitors was the appearance of the Ring, therefore by logical deduction the elves had hosted a council of some sort to decide the fate of the Ring.

Something was definitely afoot here.

Disturbed, he stood up and returned the plate to a collection box where the elves at the kitchen would wash them, his small servings suddenly seemed too large for his stomach. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he left the hall in search of Gandalf. Perhaps he would have some answers for him — but swiftly realised that he too must be at the council.

Suddenly, an old voice called out to him, "Ah Elise, I was looking for you,"

Swirling around in surprise, Harry exclaimed, "Gandalf! How did you — never mind, I was looking for you too,"

"What a coincidence," the hatted old man said, leaning on his staff as he emerged from behind a corner, "Have you eaten yet?"

"Why, yes. I just came from the dining hall,"

"Good, good. I believe that there is a meeting that I simply must invite you to," Gandalf gestured at him to follow as he walked back to where he came from, "Come along, I'll explain on the way..."

Walking next to Gandalf, Harry asked, "Does it happen to concern a particular... troublesome artefact?"

Gandalf missed a step in his stride and nearly stumbled, "A troublesome artefact? Thats the first I've ever heard the One Ring called as such. But yes, this is about the Ring," Glancing at Harry, he continued to speak, "Occasionally I simply forget that you are a very observant young lady. I apologise for that,"

 _Well, thats awfully convenient now, isn't it? Speak of devil and he shall appear._

"... Its fine," Harry managed to say, "I must ask, are the... well, visitors from other places also present?"

"Yes, this is a rather important council after all."

"Do they know..." Harry gestured at himself, "Who and what I am?"

"... Well, no," the Istari admitted, "But that shouldn't be an issue, unless you do not wish to reveal that you have a largely benevolent errant soul latching on, of course,"

"Are you sure about this? That they will not attempt to stab me immediately? This could easily be interpreted as necromancy,"

"You are under Lord Elrond's and my protection directly, young Elise," Gandalf reassured him, "Relax in the fact that no one here will dare harm you with us in your presence,"

"Is that so... So what is this meeting about? What do you plan to do with the Ring?"

"The Ring must be destroyed, there are no other option if we mean to destroy Sauron himself," Gandalf said, his pace picking up, "Unfortunately, there are a few issues with that."

"Such as?"

"It is protected by the power of Sauron, and only the place of it's making can it be unraveled again..." the Istari muttered, "Only in the flames of Mount Doom can it be destroyed,"

Harry paused in his tracks, causing Gandalf to stop and look back at him.

Incredulous, Harry asked, "You surely are not suggesting that we tot the Ring all the way into Mordor? I am not a scholar but I _am_ very sure that Mount Doom lies right next to his domain _and_ his Eye. This is pure insanity!"

"I assure that it is both mad and necessary," Gandalf responded without delay, "The Ring must be destroyed to rid him once and forever. Even without the Ring, his influence grows stronger by day."

"But still? Mordor?"

"Hiding it does not solve the issue, his armies still grows,"

"There must be some other way to destroy the Ring!"

"If there is, we would've done so as soon as we received the ring — Oh, we are here."

As he was immersed within the argument, Harry barely noticed that the pair had walked into a small garden with a circular pedestal in the middle. Tall pillars form arches and marbled stone served as chairs under the greenery. On the chairs sat Elves, Men and Dwarves, filling each seat. On the far left of the semi circle sat Frodo, who watched in surprise.

Lord Elrond who sat in his own chair stated, "Ah, Gandalf. You've arrived."

The Istari strode in and headed for his chair, which was empty. Awkwardly, Harry followed him and decided to stand behind to his chair, attracting strange gazes from the other guests. "I apologise for the delay. Let the meeting begin."

Gazing at everyone in turn, Elrond rose and said, "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old... you've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stand on the brink of destruction, none can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall..."

At this, the ones seated looked at each other uneasily, the tension palpable in the air.

"Each race is bound to this fate, this one Doom."

Elrond turned and looked at Frodo directly, staring at him. He said, "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo,"

Grasping the arm of the chair, the Hobbit stood up unsteadily. With tense movements and shaky legs, he strode forth to the pedestal that stood at the centre of the podium. Fishing within his pockets, he withdrew something within his clenched mist. With a soft metallic clink, he placed the Ring onto the pedestal.

As that caught sight of the Ring, their breath seemed to escape them, visages suddenly paled and cold sweat broke out. Mutterings and whisperings flew through the podium as they fell into trepidation.

Harry too felt the Ring, like a cold wind and foul odour that came from the small band of gold. His magic and occlumency training protected himself from its effects, stopping the presence from infiltrating his mind, but others were not so resistant to it's dark presence. Even Gandalf seemed somewhat unnerved, his knuckles white upon his wooden staff.

Frodo slowly walked back to his seat, his hands shaking.

Someone whispered, "So it is true..."

"The Doom of man."

The person who whispered muttered, "In a dream, I saw the Eastern side grow dark but in the West a pale light lingered..." Slowly, the man stood up, walking towards the pedestal as if he was in a dream, "...A voice was crying: Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's bane is found..."

His fingers, trembling, reached out. Alarmed, Elrond stood up and roared, "Boromir!"

Gandalf stood up as well, brandishing his staff and shouted, " _Ash_ _nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"_

At that moment, the sky seemed to darken a fraction. The council suddenly grasped their heads between their palms, cringing away from his voice. The earth shook, the life in the trees stilled and the wind ceased blowing in a moment of terror. The man, now known as Boromir, stumbled back into his chair, gasping.

Harry looked around wildly at the scrambling elves and man. The words certainly contained a generous dose of power, something that like a _taboo_ curse — but definitely not something that should merit such fear and strife just by its mention.

Gradually, the darkness faded and life returned.

Elrond glared at Gandalf in a way that would have been comical is this weren't so serious, "Never before has any voice uttered those words in Imladris."

Gruffly, Gandalf answered back, "I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether _evil_ ,"

"It is a gift!" Boromir said again, having recovered he stood up from his seat once more, "A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring?" With big gestures, he said to the other council members, "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

Aragon, the man that brought Harry to Imladris stood up too and responded, "You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron _alone_. It has no other master."

Turning to look at him, Boromir mockingly asked, "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

Suddenly, another ridiculously handsome Elf — probably some form of royalty according to his bearing and attire, stood up with a scowl. He practically hissed, "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

 **"** Aragorn?," Bormor said disbelievingly, swiftly turning back and glared at Aragorn, "This… is Isildur's heir?"

 **"** And heir to the throne of Gondor." The Elf added, narrowing his eyes.

Mutterings immediately broke out again, more than a pair of eyes widened and stared at a clearly uncomfortable Aragon. _So Aragon is a long lost king?_ Harry thought, bemused and surprised, _I thought that he might be some form of royalty with his connections to the elves, but a king?_

Aragon sighed, crossing his arms, _"Havo dad Legolas."_

Boromir sneered, "Gondor has no king. Gondor _needs_ no king."

Giving and receiving the stink eye from everyone in the podium, he returned to his seat, muttering to himself. _This man is a nut job,_ Harry noted to himself, v _ery high chance of blowing a rampage Ron. Probably needs to be kept in sight._

Nodding his head and clearly ignoring the fiasco, Gandalf pointed at the ring, "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."

"You have only one choice," Lord Elrond said, finally arriving to the main point of the meeting, "The Ring must be destroyed."

A dwarf suddenly stood up, full of bluster. Grabbing an axe — _why would they allow weapons in a council? —_ he yelled, "What are we waiting for?"

Before anyone can stop him, he marched up to the ring, brought his axe overhead in a massive swing that would sure to split limbs and torsos. With a roar and whistling wind, he let the axe head fall on to the gold band.

There was a flash of white, the sound of metal cracking. With a loud bang, the dwarf was thrown through the air in a tumble before landing on his rear.

Harry blinked the black spots out of his eyes and messaged his head as the ringing sound faded. Glancing at the Ring, he noticed that it was completely unharmed by the blow, still sitting on the pedestal innocently. However, if a band of gold could glare, Harry felt that it would be doing so.

Sardonically, Lord Elrond said, "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." He looked around the podium, "One of you must do this,"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, where everyone glanced at each other. No one dared say a word lest this humongous responsibility befall them.

Taking a deep breath and with an almost derisive smile, Boromir said, "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

Despite the man's earlier behaviour, Harry agreed with his point. Going into Mordor, especially when the orcs are up and about was a terrible idea. The chance for failure is high and the consequences are too steep. If he were to choose, he would rather throw the Ring somewhere in the ocean, in a jar, covered in lead and several sealing charms before being chained shut with some non-rusting metal.

The Elf from before, his name seemed to be _Legolas_ or something, rose from his seat before scolding again, "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring _must_ be destroyed!"

The dwarf, named Gimli stood up too, roaring at the Elf, "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?!"

Boromir jumped from his chair, waving his arms extra emphasis, "And if we fail, what then?! What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?!"

Ignoring the words of the man, Gimli continued, "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!"

Taking offence, some of the Legolas's entourage too rose and started yelling at Gimli and the other Dwarves with fury. Legolas held his arms out, trying to calm down his companions with no avail.

"Never trust an elf!" Gimli roared, too restrained by his companions around the waist and arms.

Gandalf glanced at Harry, and he glanced back. Both seemed to have a silent agreement of dissapointment and a mental sigh. Shaking his head, Gandalf reached for his staff and too stood up. Knocking his staff on the floor twice, he spoke, "Do you not understand that while we bicker among ourselves, Sauron's power grows?! None can escape it!"

His voice rang out with an effect not unlike one from a _Sonorus_ charm, echoing about the podium.

One of Boromir's retainers yelled back, "You'll all be destroyed!"

Lord Elrond shrugged at Gandalf, who refused to give up and continued roaring into his staff-mic. Harry could only looked around helplessly as the scene descended into pandemonium.

The Ring seemed to tingle in his mind, having him to glance at it. Now, unmistakably, power was wafting out from the gold like waves from the sea, battering against the minds of the man, mer and dwarf. Harry glared accusingly at the Ring, which seemed to glare back with equal anger.

Suddenly, Frodo — the Hobbit — spoke, "I will take it! I will take it!"

All of a sudden, everyone _stopped in their argument. Gandalf closes his eyes as he heard Frodo's statement, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. Everyone slowly turns toward Frodo, surprised evident in their faces, some with mouths open in shock or mid vulgarity._

Frodo visibly shrunk under the gazes, but seemed to steel himself and clenched his fist. He spoke with a clear voice, "I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though.. I do not know the way."

The Elves, Dwarves and the companies of man seemed to glance in-between themselves as shame set in. With Frodo's small statue, Harry assumed that it is what caused such a reaction as it seemed a _child_ had more courage and heroic spirit than them combined. Then, with an afterthought, perhaps if he offered to bear it himself, the result would be exactly the same.

Gandalf nodded sagely, stepping closer to Frodo, "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear."

Glancing at Gandalf, Aragon stood up too, "If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will,"

With deliberate movements, he walked toward Frodo, who seemed to be frozen in shock. With another dramatic flair, he knelt in front of the Hobbit and said, "You have my sword,"

Raising an eyebrow, Legolas too walked over and stood by the Hobbit, "And you have my bow."

With an expression that seemed like he was caught with his trousers down, Gimli the dwarf glared at Legolas and loudly proclaimed, "And my axe!"

Boromir slowly walked toward Frodo too, resigned and grave, "You carry the fates of us all little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done,"

Harry was not expecting this kind of cooperation from the man, and was pleasantly surprised. _Maybe he is not a total nut job after all._

There was a moment of such grandness, that everyone had been stunned to silence. Even the Ring seemed to quiet down on its pedestal, it's presence momentarily dwarfed — Harry winced at his mind — by the sheer determination.

Suddenly, a figure tumbled out of a bush, scattering leaves in all directions. The dwarves near where he emerged jumped with surprise, reaching for their weapons. The bush monster promptly proclaimed, "Mr. Frodo is not goin' anywhere without me!"

 _Sam?_ Harry thought with his eyebrows raised.

With an expression that could barely be called amused, Lord Elrond said dryly, "No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

Two more figures suddenly ran up from behind two pillars, revealing themselves to be two more hobbits Pippin and Merry, "Wait! We are coming too!"

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!"

"Anyway you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest… thing."

"Well that rules you out Pip."

The moment, now broken, had the members of the council smiling and laughing. Cheer seemed to return as the proclamations went on.

Elrond slowly said, "Nine companions…"

Out of the blue, Gandalf suddenly said, "Not so soon, Elrond."

 _Eh?_

The Istari slowly turned toward Harry, who was still standing next to his seat. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

 _Oh right. That question._

 _Can I risk this?_

 _Can I bare to bring Elise into this war?_

He asked himself again, does he have the right to bring Elise into such a dangerous environment, one that she would have never been in if it weren't for his arrival?

 _No, he doesn't. However, an entire world is at stake here. And also, it is unlikely I can find a way back home alone._

 _Oh no._

 _This is an exact repeat of Dumbledore's Dilemma, isn't it?_

Of course, he knew what the answer must be. The responsibility of his decisions and the choice between doing nothing or sacrificing others for the "greater good".

Sighing to himself, he took a deep breath and said, "I'll join the fellowship as well, Lord Elrond,"

While Gandalf seemed both pleased and regretful, some of the other council members seemed surprised and scandalised.

Frowning, Elrond asked, "Are you sure, Elise? The road would be hard and dangerous."

Closing his eyes, Harry repeated, "I'll join the fellowship,"

Elrond nodded, "Very well, if that is your decision."

One of Boromir's acquaintance called out, "Lord Elrond, you can't be serious. A girl belongs not on the path, especially not one that leads into Mordor!"

Glancing at the man who said that, Harry sighed and answered, "Worry not for me. I can protect myself and others well enough,"

"Still —" another person tried.

"Elise is currently under my tutorship. I can personally confirm her skills," Gandalf said, glancing back at Elise, "Or would you like a demonstration?"

Harry clapped his hands together and concentrated. Under his breath, he whispered, _"Solaris"_. From in-between his palms, a small flicker of fire formed, growing and growing until it is a sphere of inferno, held between his hands. The dancing light casted shadows on the floor and orange sheen on all it touches, spinning like a wheel. The sphere cackled with power, lances of embers spraying out onto the floor but vanishes before it did.

Some of the guests scrambled back in terror, mouths agape. The dwarves cursed and cussed in their tongue while the Elves sat there, stunned as the podium heated up rapidly.

Suddenly, Harry clapped his hands together again, bashing the small ball of fire into bits, winking out the flame like one would do to a candle. This spell was "bluffing" spell, in that it is absolutely useless in most practical forms since it could neither be detonated or thrown about. However, it does look damn impressive — and he aimed to impress. Luckily, since it is at it's base a paper tiger, the magic expenditure were rather low.

There was another moment of silence before the mutterings returned, the council members still wide eyed.

 _"Sorcery?"_

 _"...What magic is this?"_

 _"This is no Istari..."_

Gandalf cleared his voice, "Thank you Elise. As I've said, she's currently under my tutorship, and I'll watch over her. Now, Elrond, would you mind?"

Nonplused, Lord Elrond continued as if nothing happened, "Ten companions then... So be it. I hereby decree that you shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!"

Silence reigned again.

"Great!" Pippin said enthusiastically, "Where are we going?"

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Hey, welcome back. Sorry for the hiatus. Got work to do — and now summer is here, I can finally start writing (just a bit.) Here's a chapter or something to tide you guys over.**

 **Anyway, enjoy.**


End file.
